Favors Returned
by M'Celeste
Summary: A tale of friendship, love and settling scores.
1. Prologue & Chapter 1

Favors Returned

* * *

 _Authors note: Some of you may be familiar with this story, as it has been archived elsewhere on the web since 2000. My premise in writing it was to show the events of Pride and Prejudice from an outsider's perspective, but somewhere along the line, the story and its characters took on lives of their own. In its final incarnation, Favors Returned runs parallel to and intersects with Pride and Prejudice's storyline and characters, while allowing glimpses into the lives of the criminal element, the poor and working classes and their unvarnished, often unsavory environs. The central character, John Barrow, bridges these two very different worlds_

 _To previous readers, I hope you don't mind a second perusal. To first time readers, I hope you enjoy the ride!_

* * *

Prologue

John Thomas Barrow sat at his desk in near darkness. The early morning sky had yet to show any trace of oncoming dawn; the stars still displaying gemlike against a black velvet expanse. To this solitary, contemplative man it was all quiet, still perfection. Moving his candle closer, he unfolded the first of two letters he had recently received. Having already read and responded to both of them over a week ago, this perusal was simply for his own enjoyment. The pleasure was manifold. Smiling as he considered how the ink blots, smears, and hasty corrections garnered more than their fair share of space on the elegant stationery, he felt a surge of affection for the author. The execution of this missive reassured him that the executor of it had not changed. Its contents gave him even greater satisfaction.

 _Dear Friend,_

 _You are a very difficult man to track down. It is my sincere hope that this letter finds you well, at peace in both body and in mind. We were very concerned for your well-being when you left so suddenly seven years ago. Indeed, has it been that long?_

 _I am about to cross a major milestone in my life, which gives me occasion to consider the past as well as the future. That being the case, you have been much on my mind of late, my friend. I mention a milestone. Rest assured, it is a happy one. I am soon to be married to a wonderful lady, Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire. This lady's goodness is matched only by her beauty, and it is my own private source of wonder and amazement that she has consented to have me at all. This happy event is to take place in about a fortnight at Longbourn church, on the eleventh of December at ten o'clock. My happiness could only be increased by your presence there._

 _Also to be wed on this day is our mutual friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy. He has been equally as fortunate in his choice of a wife. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sister to my Jane, is to make him the second happiest man in all of England. I have informed Darcy of my finding you. He is delighted, and wishes to join me in requesting that you come and share in our joy. Indeed, you will likely hear from that quarter yourself very shortly. I took the liberty of giving him your direction, and he has stated that he will write._

 _Again John, only your being such a well concealed recluse prevented me from sending you a proper invitation. It is my sincere hope that the lateness of this letter does not prevent you from making plans to attend._

 _With Warmest Regards,_

 _Charles Bingley_

The smile on John's face continued intact as he opened his second letter. The style of it, brief, to the point, and calculated to make one see its writer's point of view, was also reflective of its author.

 _Dear John,_

 _I see that you have not fallen off the end of the earth as we had once feared. This is a pleasure indeed, my friend, as we had despaired of ever seeing you again._

 _It is my understanding that Bingley has made you acquainted with a certain event that is soon to take place, and has informed you of the particulars of time and place. You must come. Indeed, you must. There can be no other answer. I have secured my London carriage for the sole purpose of being put to good use during these next two weeks, and can think of no better employment for it than to transport an old friend to be with us on this day. Please write soon and inform me of the time best suited to bring you to Netherfield. I remain,_

 _Your Friend,_

 _Fitzwilliam Darcy_

And this was the day. He had declined the invitations. _Pressing obligations, etc., etc._ , had unfortunately prevented him... Though true that he did have commitments of his own to attend to, another sadder truth was that he had grown out of the habit of having friends. And as pleasurable as this re-acquaintance promised to be, he preferred to meet with Bingley and Darcy at another more private time. Natural curiosity played no role here. That had been satisfied long ago and there would have been little novelty in attending. Months before his friend's engagements were secured, John was well aware of the dramatic twists and turns in his friends lives, and could in some small way take credit for the happy outcome.

This was no idle boast for John possessed a knack, an almost uncanny ability to uncover facts and get to the bottom of things. And his considerable talents had been put to good use during the past year or so. This was something he'd excelled at for as long as he could remember. By the time he had reached the tender age of three, he had come to understand that he was not completely an orphan, and that he was really not related to his guardians 'Aunt' and 'Uncle' Barrow at all. By the age of five he pretty much knew who his father was, and that the nature of his birth would likely consign him to a precarious existence at best. By the time he went away to school, he had put most of the puzzle together. Despite considerable efforts on the part of his aunt and uncle to shield him, he knew. He knew, for example, that his father was a rather prominent Member of Parliament's House of Lords who could ill afford to have certain secrets come to light. He also knew that this man had pulled considerable weight to have him admitted to Eton. All of his father's influence, however, could not alter the fact that he was only a natural son after all, and that his mother had been a tradesman's daughter who had no wealth to speak of, and whose father kept only a very small shop.

In the rarefied air of Eton his adopted identity, orphaned nephew of a country attorney, was not calculated to make for an easy life, and so it was. But even this sin, though weighing heavily against him, might have been easily forgiven had he only been an attractive child, pleasing in face, figure, or at least address. But alas, he was not. His address was not calculated to please. He did not pander and tended to speak his mind. Someone describing him might have called him remarkable in an ornithological sort of way. Everything about him, dark piercing eyes, small sharp nose, slender stilt-like legs, served to remind one of some as yet unknown species of bird. In a child born to wealth or position these features might have been called aquiline, distinctive, even noble. But he was not. Consequently they called him Finch, and there at Eton among the well-heeled and well connected, it was always open season...

* * *

Chapter 1

In the huddled posture of two souls in wrapped in strictest confidence, John Barrow and Charles Bingley made their way across the sun dappled Eton courtyard. It was pure coincidence that the surroundings should so accurately reflect their contrasting natures, sunlight and shadow, openness and reserve. Yet despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, they had become fast friends. And now, these two friends had important matters to discuss.

"And you're absolutely certain, John?"

"Charles, there can be no doubt. Bold as day he was! I saw him glancing toward my paper, and when I moved my hand to cover it, he took a scrap of paper from his vest pocket. It comes as no surprise really. He's a simpleton."

"I overheard him John, he thinks you're going to tell."

"I am. He was wrong."

"Do you think they'll believe you?"

John was quiet for a moment as he considered, "Yes, they'll believe it of _him._ I doubt that anything will be done, but they'll believe. And meanwhile, things will get more difficult for me. The blockhead!"

They continued talking as they entered an arched entry leading to the maze of stairways, corridors, and domiciles that comprised their dormitory. Suddenly, the sound of someone running reached their ears, and a single word seized their attention.

"Finch!"

 _He has wasted no time I see_ , thought John.

"Come back here, Finch!" A hand reached out to grab him. "My friend Edward says you should stop it, you little nobody!"

"I will **not** stop it! He was wrong. I don't care who his father is! He was wrong and shouldn't be cheating. I've found him out and I'm going to tell!"

With that, Winslow pinned John to the wall and threatened him with his fist, "You're a snitch then, Finch, and I don't like snitches."

"Well you're a toady! A tuft-hunter!"

"Well, you're dead!" Winslow was drawing back to make good on his threat when a small but commanding voice took him entirely by surprise.

"Leave him _alone_!"

Without releasing his prey, Winslow turned to address this brave or foolish boy, "Go on Bingley, this is none of your concern."

"I will _make_ it my concern if you don't leave John alone." Bingley drew himself up to the full, though insignificant height of his eight years.

Robert Winslow, ten year old bully, saw just enough humor in the situation to laugh with tolerable good nature, before shoving Bingley to the floor and sauntering away.

John, the intended victim of this most recent show of force, ran to his friend's side and helped him to his feet. He put his best handkerchief to use, as Bingley's nose was bloodied by the fall and in need of attention. "Thank you Charles. That was meant for me. I'm sorry you got the worst of it."

"It's all right, John. It doesn't hurt much."

"Let me help you on to your room and get you cleaned up." John put his arm round Bingley's shoulder and guided him through the labyrinthine series of twists and turns that constituted a seldom used short cut. Unknown to them, their passage was also being used by someone coming from the opposite direction. Someone whose quick step would bring them all very shortly to an unexpected juncture. _It's unlikely that we'll encounter any more bullies along the way_ , thought John as they quickly turned a corner... and ran squarely into that someone. A very tall someone.

"Hello!" a hand reached out to steady them, "What have we here?"

"Excuse us sir!, said John and Charles in unison. John continued on, "You're not with them too, are you?"

"I don't know who 'they' are, but if they're responsible for that pounding, then probably not. Let's have a look." He whistled softly as he lifted the now crimson handkerchief, "Impressive show! Come… what's your name?"

"Charles Bingley, sir."

"Come with me, Charles. No more bloodshed in the corridor. My room is close at hand."

There, in the relative luxury of Fitzwilliam Darcy's room, John and Charles became acquainted with the curative powers of water with wine, and two ginger cakes apiece. And there, his curiosity not quite satisfied, Darcy continued with his interview.

"So, you're the one all of this was intended for, are you? And what might your name be?"

"My name is John Thomas Barrow. Most everyone in this hideous place calls me Finch, but my friends call me John... sir,"

Darcy might have given way to outward amusement, had his eyes not been met by such a serious, level gaze. Stifling his inclination to smile, he continued, "So John, cheating was the crime, was it? And who exactly are your adversaries?"

"There's only one of any consequence," John replied, "Edward Thorne."

"And his friend Robert. Robert Winslow." Bingley's hand gingerly touched the bridge of his nose in remembrance.

"No Bingley, Robert is nothing. He's only the henchman. Edward's the man."

Several boys out-ranked this second son of a duke, but when it came to ill-temper Edward Thorne was without peer, "You mean **_the_** Edward Thorne. **_Lord_** Edward?" Darcy let out a low whistle.

"Yes sir."

It was apparent from Darcy's expression that John was being re-appraised. That such a small boy would willingly stand up to such a mean-spirited, spiteful, tyrannical child as Edward Thorne was truly amazing. And to do it on principle! Darcy's head cocked to the side, as if to get a better look at this old, young boy. Next he turned to Bingley, "And what exactly is your interest in all this?"

"John is my friend, sir."

 _He's a loyal friend then. Many would have bolted and left him to stand alone._ "I see. Yes, well the both of you could stand quite a few friends right now."

During the past year Darcy had, for the first time, taken on the role of older brother, and he liked it very well indeed. But much as he loved his baby sister he had no brothers and, in all probability, would never have one. The thought crossed his mind that if he ever had been blessed with a brother or two, he would have liked a pair very much like Charles and John. And so it came to pass that Fitzwilliam Darcy took two small boys under his protection.

-~O~-

Creative License Alert: I did research on Eton and learned that there would be no possible way for Darcy and Bingley to be there at the same time. However, I wanted them to be there together, so I put them there! Normally I try to adhere to accuracy, but every once in a while you gotta break the rules. Michele V


	2. Chapters 2 & 3

Chapter 2

From the very day Darcy intervened on their behalf, John Barrow and his best friend Charles Bingley enjoyed a measure of protection from continued persecution. Among the younger boys, any who might be tempted were soon dispelled by Darcy's frequent and formidable presence. Even Edward Thorne thought it best to leave well enough alone for now, despite suffering the humiliation of having to defend himself against John's accusations. Among the older boys, things continued on much the same as before. John and Charles were still only fags after all, and as such were expected to run any errand at any time. Though it did seem that their duties were not as frequent, or as onerous as they once were.

And so the years passed. John and Charles grew from small boys of eight to promising lads of eleven. And the years were kind. Charles, always a personable, handsome boy, grew even more so, and his happy manners served to benefit his friend, as he would frequently attempt to teach John the benefit of tact. As a result, though he would never be as diplomatic as his friend, Barrow could now occasionally be heard holding his tongue. And, though he would never be what is so readily called handsome, John grew into, and out of those features that had made him so remarkable as a young boy. He was now unremarkable. But what he lacked in superficials he made up for in other areas. Intelligent, tenacious, resourceful, and freed of the necessity of looking over his shoulder, John Barrow was able to attend more fully to his studies. He had an extraordinary capacity for learning, and soon showed promise of distinguishing himself. Aside from satisfying his natural inclination John had another motive. Not knowing how much longer his father's patronage could be depended upon, he thought it best to excel, reasoning that access to Cambridge might, of necessity, be gained through scholarship.

The possible urgency of this was brought forward when John was called home by a sudden tragedy. His guardians Mr. and Mrs. Barrow, both of them unwell and advanced in age, died within days of each other. Sickly and frail, his aunt was first. Her husband succumbed to apoplexy by weeks end. This was a great blow. John, though never having enjoyed a close familial bond with his guardians, loved them as much as his circumstances would allow. In life they had never been particularly warm towards him, nor was it in their nature to demonstrate that deep, affectionate love which should be the birthright of every child; but they were fair. They had never been unkind, and as the only link he had to his father, they had pursued his interests with diligence. In death they did what they could. Their modest estate went, by rights to their one true blood relative, a nephew in Surrey. Yet they were generous enough to leave John with whatever benefits could be had from two thousand pounds, money they had been able to set aside for him over the years. This gift was all the more generous when taking into account their understanding that John would eventually be provided for by his father.

It was on this sad occasion that John received his first and, he suspected, only correspondence from this man. Without ceremony Mr. Blevins, his late uncle's associate handed John a sealed single page letter. With no salutation or closure, the body of the letter read as follows:

 _Shortly before the unfortunate death of your guardians, I was made aware of the fact that you possess rather detailed information regarding the circumstance of your birth. While realizing that this is a heavy burden to carry for one so young, I cannot emphasize strongly enough the importance of your continued discretion in this matter. It is only in this way that I can continue to assist you. I would wish for it to be different, but anything more is impossible._

 _I have been following your progress at Eton and am pleased to see that you are making good use of your education. This will serve you well. It is a source of personal pride that anyone connected with me should do well at Eton. Your continued progress, and cooperation, will see your way clear to attend Cambridge._

 _Your former guardian's associate, Mr. John Blevins, will now mediate on your behalf._

It surprised John that though anonymous, this letter was written on distinctive, crested stationery, which served to identify the writer of it as surely would his signature. It also surprised him that his father would think him so naive. What was at peril here was not the education of a natural son, but the social and political ambitions of an influential man. His father was either a fop or a fool, or both! John was disappointed, although perhaps he shouldn't have been. Up till now, the more illustrious side of his family tree had left much to be desired. His brow furrowed as he considered the veiled warning against disclosure, a warning rendered unnecessary by John's own natural circumspection. It had been many years since he had perceived how little could be gained, and how much perhaps lost, by making public something that was not meant to be.

As John slowly raised his eyes from this most singular correspondence, his visage was met by the steadfast, earnest gaze of Mr. Blevins.

"John, I have never felt the need to speak to you as though you were a child. I know you will understand me when I say that self-reliance is an admirable quality, one that can sometimes not be had too soon. Having said that, let me add that I will always champion your cause to the very best of my ability. My eyes will be on your horizon John... but you must watch your back."

John returned to Eton from these sad events with a new guardian, and a new resolve.

* * *

Chapter 3

Arriving back at Eton mid-morning while classes were still in attendance was fortunate, as John would have time to unpack and reflect in private. But first he would attend to his father's letter. Having given it much thought, his first inclination was to destroy it. He would have no need of it for future substantiation, as his pride would not allow him to plead for anything from this man. There was nothing in the letter that he would ever want to read again, and the still glowing embers from this morning's fire provided him with the opportunity, but something stayed his hand. John could think of no reason for it, but on sudden impulse he placed the letter amongst other papers and mementos, in the bottom of a small wooden chest kept under his bed. Perhaps, one who has no family can be excused for wanting to have proof of the opposite, even such family as it was.

John attended to Mr. Blevins' warning. He knew that he had at least one enemy in Edward Thorne, and that it was wise to include all of the considerable number that flocked to him. So John resolved to be always wary, never letting his guard down, even among those who would be his friends. But there were two young men who demanded exception to this rule. Bingley's friendship had been tested and found true on many occasions. And Darcy had acted as an older brother, providing sound council, and protective companionship to them both. But Darcy would soon be gone.

As the weeks approached to the end of the final term, the three of them met more frequently. Darcy, in particular felt that this might be a significant turning point for his young friends. Therefore, he used every occasion to bolster them up against possible future trials, to encourage them in their studies and discuss plans for their future lives.

"I feel as though I am abandoning you. It will be seven years before you come to Cambridge, and by then I will be gone. I don't want you to become idle in my absence. Of course, I have no concerns for _you_ on that score Barrow. I know that you'll continue to be diligent in your studies. In fact, I wish in my absence that you would encourage Bingley to attend more strenuously."

"Yes" said Bingley, laughing amicably, "I suppose that I should bury my nose in my notes more often, read all of my books and study till dawn. But I never could quite see the purpose in it. To be honest, I'm not nearly as clever as either of you."

Darcy took immediate offense, "Bingley, this is beyond your usual modesty. I've seen you accomplish twice as much as some, with half the effort. I refuse to have you use some imagined deficiency as an excuse for indolence. There is no reason for you not to excel, and I expect it of you."

Surprised and secretly pleased by Darcy's stern admonition, Bingley solemnly promised to exert himself. This was followed by an admission, "I _do_ love to learn and enjoy every subject. But I find that I sometimes lack the motivation," he glanced at John and smiled, "Barrow, on the other hand seems _all_ motivation. Regardless of whether or not he cares for the subject, he is determined to do well."

John shrugged his shoulders, and answered in a matter of fact way, "There is one great difference between us. You are an heir; I am not. I must have a profession… though I'm often at a loss as to what I shall do," John grew pensive, "I do know that I won't be satisfied unless I am happy with my lot. I would rather be a pauper first."

"Yes," said Darcy, unable to hold back his smile, "You'd be happy _then_ , wouldn't you? Fine words John, but you cannot eat them."

"You are willfully misunderstanding me, Darcy. I am in earnest! There is more than one type of poverty, and there can be nothing worse than the bitter hunger of a well-fed man."

"Perhaps." Darcy still smiled his amusement, "Alhough you might do well to ask the opinion of an ill-fed man."

John was thoughtful for a moment, then quietly answered, "Believe me Darcy, at times I feel perilously close to poverty, so there is really nothing for me to lose. I _will_ have my share of happiness."

This was said feelingly, with a sincerity which caused Darcy to check himself. Darcy often found himself speaking to John as if he were much older than he actually was. And, although John had never elaborated much about his private life, there could be little doubt that his circumstances and expectations were quite different from those of Darcy's own. _And, in light of recent events_ , thought Darcy, _John has had more than his share of unhappiness. I should be more aware of this, having lost my own mother three years ago._ Darcy was ashamed, and said gently, "It is true that your abilities may not lend themselves to the usual gentlemanly pursuits. You do not have the patience for medicine I think, or the Church. You are too restless and active for law, too pensive for war. But despite all of this John, your talents are numerous and admirable. I have every reason to believe that you'll be happy."

Bingley, who had been sitting quietly during this exchange, now spoke up. "If it is any comfort at all Barrow, you can always rely on whatever happiness can be had from having at least two very good friends."

The silence which followed this conversation was not the sort to give discomfort, in fact the opposite was true. The three of them felt that a genuine bond had been formed, and that their three strand cord could not be easily broken.

~O~


	3. Chapters 4 & 5

Chapter 4

The three remained good friends. John and Bingley had the benefit of close proximity, but through correspondence and the occasional visit, Darcy kept in touch. There were invitations to Pemberley as well. On one such visit, Barrow made the acquaintance of Darcy's childhood friend, George Wickham, though perhaps acquaintance was too strong a word. Wickham barely acknowledged him. John did not voice the sentiment, but he was not impressed by this young man. There were times though, when it seemed Darcy thought even less of him.

At Eton, the next several years were calm, and prosperous. Following the advice of his friends, Bingley attended more to his studies, and did quite well. As for John, it appeared likely that he would be first in his level. He had gained the respect and admiration of most and, except for the occasional threat from Edward Thorne delivered as always through his lackey Robert Winslow, there was nothing to mar these halcyon days.

"Finch!" Winslow strolled over one day, smiling pleasantly, "My friend Edward Thorne would like you to know that he has not forgotten you, and that he intends to return all favors."

"Is that so? Well it would appear that your friend Thorne is as much of a coward as ever, sending you to do his dirty work."

"Don't flatter yourself Finch! Thorne only speaks to those worthy of the privilege. And _you'd_ best mind your manners! I never gave you that thrashing you deserved years ago; I'll be happy to give it to you now. Darcy is not here to protect you."

"Unless you absolutely _must_ be humiliated, I would not recommend it. I was never afraid of you, and there is not such a great disparity of size between us anymore. Perhaps you should run along."

Winslow, seeing some truth to this, opted for keeping appearances, "If I didn't have more important things to attend to I would show you the benefit of respecting your betters, but my time is far too important to spend it sullying my hands with the likes of you. Another day, Finch!" With as much menace as he could muster, Winslow swaggered away.

And this was to be Robert Winslow's final threat to John Barrow. No doubt in frustration at this last exchange with John, Winslow _did_ go on to attend to one of those more important things, pulverizing some small, unobtrusive schoolmate. But unfortunate for him, he had not done his homework, and was unaware that his latest victim had an Earl for a sponsor. It was not long afterward that Winslow was sent down, expelled without delay, ceremony or regret. Yes, these were halcyon days indeed! But as fate would have it, all things are subject to change. There was one person in particular who did not care much for halcyon days, and whose interest was in helping fate as best he could.

With but one month left to the end of the final term the first storm clouds rolled in. Phillip Gaston, a pleasant fellow on the same level as John and Charles, had had the good fortune several years ago to come into possession of a rather nice pocket watch. It had been passed around and duly admired by all, and no further thought given to it until the past week when it came up missing. It had been taken by someone who had no use for another timepiece but who would hold onto it in secret, awaiting the perfect opportunity to carry out his design. Just such an occasion finally presented itself. Feigning illness Sunday morning, Edward Thorne stayed in from chapel, allowing him leisure time to go unobserved where he needed to go.

In the world, there are many whose lives take a turn for better or worse because of their circumstances. Those who are naturally saintly can be corrupted, and the greatest of sinners can reform because of some powerful outside force. On the other hand, there are those fortunate few on whom circumstance will not impose, who through sheer strength of character remain true to their nature. Edward Thorne was one of these. Had he been the son of a bishop or a burglar it would have made no difference, Thorne was rotten to the core. He had no affection, no principle, no conscience, and no heart. Thorne's Eton career had consisted almost entirely of settling scores, both real and imagined, and creating more scores to settle. With each vanquishing, his evil propensities demanded more of cruelty to be satisfied. But despite all this, there was still an art to it. Timing was of the essence, and if Lord Edward Thorne had one Christian quality it was patience. Like the true proficient he was, he had chosen the best possible moment in this instance, for now his next victim had a pinnacle from which to fall.

More than ever before, Thorne could truly say that he missed his old acquaintance, Robert Winslow. Winslow had been sent down over a year ago, for what offense Thorne could not remember, _Stupid fool!_ and Edward had not been able to find another lackey to do his dirty work. Left to his own devices, Thorne moved quickly and cautiously. Though apparently unobserved he must still take care, lest he be discovered somehow. On cat's feet he slipped soundlessly into John Barrow's room. Looking around he smiled derisively. _How perfectly plain! Books everywhere. No fashion or ornament at all. What a studious little bird he is! Pity it will all be for nothing._ But there was no time to indulge in good humor. With perseverance and industry, Edward Thorne adhered to his mission. In search of a suitable hiding spot, he dropped to his knees and thrust his arm under John's bed. It was, he supposed, a most deplorable lack of finesse to rely on the obvious, but time was of the essence here. Thorne's hand brushed a box of some kind, and he drew it out. _This_ _will do_. He opened the box, and went about selecting the best place for concealment. As his eyes hastily surveyed the contents, they glanced upon something very much out of place. From the bottom of the small wooden chest, Thorne removed a single page of familiar stationary. _What is he doing with a letter from my father? He is a little thief then!_ As he opened and read the letter his face spoke volumes. Confusion, comprehension, scorn and finally malevolent, burning rage. _Finch, my father's bastard! The likes of him would claim to be my brother? Sorry to disappoint, little bird, but this extortion will go no further. You will soon take flight from here, and I will see to it that your specter does not haunt me at Cambridge!_ Thorne slipped the letter into his waistcoat and then, remembering his original motive for coming, put Gaston's watch where the letter had been.

But his task was not complete. Directly after leaving John's room, a helpful note was slipped under the door of Soames, a small minded, nervous natured, by-the-book sort of fellow. Among the upper level prefects, he was the one most inclined towards quick, usually poor judgment. Having been subjected to John's outspokenness on more than one occasion, he was more than ready to form an ill opinion of him.

Soames, after finding and reading his note, went immediately to see Mr. Casterbridge, Headmaster, with this most alarming news. In turn, Mr. Casterbridge made plans for a search and if fruitful, a confrontation. News of the impending scandal spread like wildfire. As the drama continued to unfold, John recieved the answer to all of his questions. On his way to see Mr. Casterbridge for the first of several hearings, John heard a sound on the stairwell, the sound of someone clearing his throat. He looked up. There at the turning was Edward Thorne, the faint trace of a smile on his face, and John's letter dangling from his hand.

There were not many eyes willing to meet those of John Barrow as he made his way back to his room. Shortly after his return there was a knock at the door. The door was opened to admit Charles Bingley. Those eyes met his.

"Bingley, I don't care what anyone else thinks. My only concern is that _you_ believe me."

All sincerity, Bingley answered with emotion, "How could I disbelieve you and believe the impossible? It would be just as likely for the sun to rise from the west, John. How could I _possibly_ think this of you? Mark my words, the truth will out. This will blow over and whoever did this will pay. I have a good idea who it is, and I wouldn't mind exacting the pound of flesh myself!"

That was the last thing John wanted to hear. Charles, who had no enemies, did not need Edward Thorne for a first. "Bingley, there is much more to this than you know, so please don't involve yourself. Promise me one thing, that you will not cross him."

Chapter 5

It was at the third and final meeting between the Headmaster, John, and his accuser Soames that the decision was made. For the small audience of school functionaries in attendance, the general consensus was that that such common thievery had no place at Eton. As far as they were concerned, the only question remaining was if flogging would precede the inevitable expulsion. They soon had their answer. Casterbridge rose, reached for the birch paddle and instructed John to strip and approach the blocks.

Suddenly there came a frantic knock at the door! It was promptly thrown open to reveal Phillip Gaston, victim of the theft, flushed and breathless with one of the house staff in tow.

"Excuse me Mr. Casterbridge, but I must interrupt sir. I realize that this is out of form, but I think you need to hear what this man has to say," seeing that Mr. Casterbridge was not only doubtful but displeased, Gaston quickly added, " _Please_ sir, listen, unless you want an injustice done." With that, Gaston prodded the servant forward.

"Come, come Matthews," said Casterbridge impatiently, "What have you to say for yourself?"

Nervous to be spokesperson before such an illustrious group, Matthews cleared his throat.

"I know what you think Mr. Barrow done, sir, but I believe you should know who it was put that note under Mr. Soames' door. It was His Lordship Edward Thorne. Not meaning to imply anythin' sir, but let me just say that this one times his illness well. The last time he missed service was when the watch was took. Around that time I saw him coming from Master Gaston's room."

"Why did you not say something before, man?"

"Because sir, he is a duke's son and I thought it were none of my business. With all due respect sir, my business was to trim the candles. How was I to think His Lordship was being less than a gentleman?"

The irony of that hung in the air.

"Soams!" barked Casterbridge, "Is this true? Has Lord Edward recently gone missing from chapel?"

Soames was mortified, "Yes sir, twice. The timing is just as Matthews said."

All were left feeling unsettled in the extreme. It appeared that a great wrong had very nearly been perpetrated, and that they had all been used to help carry it out. After being subjected to almost half an hour of mumbled pontifications, inappropriate joviality and, much less frequently, embarrassed apology, John was finally allowed to return to his room. Relief was far from foremost in his feelings. He was furious. What a blow to his pride that he could be subjected, despite his established character, to the whims of such a puppeteer as Edward Thorne.

Most of his anger was directed at his father. The arrogance of such a man, who would allow, for no other reason than vanity, the close confederacy of two sons who should never have known each other, made John ashamed of his connection. This was not noble blood. And a good share of anger he directed at himself. Mr. Blevins had warned him to take care. Yet, in a moment of carelessness he had held onto his father's letter, knowing what possible danger could come from its discovery.

John recalled the last conversation he had shared with Bingley and Darcy before Darcy left for Cambridge. He had insisted that he would not settle for unhappy prosperity, _I would rather be a pauper first._ Just how prophetic might those words prove to be? Considering whose hands now held his letter, it was doubtful that any further assistance would be forthcoming from that quarter. _And even if it is_ , John promised himself, _I will accept nothing more from that man_.

So John decided to leave. How he would make his way from Eton to London might be a challenge. Eton was a town dedicated to the protection of its charges, and a young man traveling alone, at night, while school was still in session might draw attention and unwanted questioning, especially the short journey to Windsor from Eton Village. But John was clever and he still had money. Nothing would be insurmountable.

As he packed a valise in haste, his only regret was leaving his friend Bingley. But his friend provided yet another motive for leaving. _'Charles will be better off.'_ , John reasoned. His family was on the rise. At some point in time Bingley would realize how important it was that his friends come equipped with certain qualifications, those which John would never have. Family or fortune would never be his, and Bingley as well as Darcy for that matter, would someday come to regard his friendship as a burden. They would have to separate from him at some point in time, and John would rather that time be now. But he would not leave without farewell. With haste, he scrawled a note to Bingley. Knowing full well that his arguments for leaving would not be understood, even if he could reveal them, John simply said goodbye, thanked Bingley for his friendship, and wished him godspeed. Sometime later that evening after all had gone to bed, the letter was slipped under Bingley's door and the author of it slipped into the night.

There was no need to linger, he would go.


	4. Chapters 6 & 7

_Authors Note: No, you're not seeing things, this makes two postings in one day! I decided to add this section because it's a good wrapping up point for John Barrow as a youth. The next section begins John's independent career - and stuff starts going down! :-) I'll post the next two chapters tomorrow. Thanks for the reviews!_

Chapter 6

It was sometime in the early dawn that John reached his London destination, a perfectly respectable town house on a quiet, tree-lined avenue. Persistent knocking at the basement kitchen door eventually brought the desired response. The door was opened a crack, then thrown wide.

"Master Barrow? Is it really you? La, what a sight!" Cook gathered her robe about herself, "You've grown six inches at the very least! Come in! Come in! The master is still abed sir, I only just woke myself."

John was glad to see her, despite the fact that cook's deafness rendered her exceedingly loud. His wish was that Mr. Blevins, a light sleeper whose hearing was rather acute, would not yet be disturbed. This wish was disappointed, however, as that very person soon made his way into the room.

"John! What are you doing here? And at this hour?"

"I have left Eton sir."

"No," Mr. Blevins, his mind still foggy from sleep had not quite gotten the point, "The term is not over for three weeks yet."

"You're quite right sir. I have left."

Shrugging sleep aside, Mr. Blevins made a quick assessment and saw that all was not well, "I see that we have matters to discuss. Come upstairs to the drawing room," Mr. Blevins led the way. After a fire was lit and tea was brought Mr. Blevins continued.

"Have out with it, lad. What's happened?"

John went on to explain the events of the past few days, and the reasons behind his conscious decision to leave. An offer to intervene was declined, as John insisted that he wanted nothing more from his father. As to future plans, those details were yet in their infancy, but the desire for independence was foremost. He had a request to make of Mr. Blevins.

"I've come to ask you to release my inheritance."

"I understand your desire to be independent, John, and one hundred pounds per annum is a princely sum to one used to fifty, but I'm afraid that is not the case here."

"I appreciate your concern, sir, but I will manage. I intend to work to supplement my income. Smallridge's might need a clerk. For the time being perhaps I could..."

"You? A clerk? For any amount of time? Heaven forbid!" Mr. Blevins walked the length of the room several times while the beginnings of an idea took shape in his mind, "John, I have a proposition to make. Consider working for me."

John considered the best, the most tactful way to answer. "Sir, as always I greatly value, and am deeply affected by the degree of interest you've always shown in me, but the law has never..."

"Of course not," Mr. Blevins interrupted, "But then, you have no earthly idea what I do. You don't know everything John, not quite. Let me explain," Resuming his seat, he let out a sigh as though wondering where to begin.

"There are occasions when people need assistance beyond what the law can provide, or perhaps they want to avoid the public forum that such assistance might expose them to. There are people, powerful, wealthy people, who sometimes need information brought to light or hidden away, someone concealed or found. In cases such as these, I am the person most likely to be called on. This is not pride speaking John, it's truth. I've been at this for thirty-five years. While we're on the subject of disclosure, I believe it's time you knew the truth about some other things as well. Come. Sit by me. More than likely you will not care for what I have to say but I believe that you have every right to know, so hear me out.

"I have been associated with your family for many years, and have long been closely acquainted with your father. I can say at least this much, it has never been his intention to be purposefully unkind. He is impulsive, vain, and cowardly perhaps, but he is not cruel. As a youth he left a trail of devastation behind him. His father employed me to... tie up his loose ends."

"And _I_ was one of those loose ends."

Mr. Blevins smiled gently, "I prefer to think you're tied up rather nicely, John. You are the only son this man has reason to be proud of. Unfortunately, he has never outgrown his cowardice. His wife and children rule his life, and they are hard taskmasters indeed. Edward has the most detrimental grip on him of them all. I'm certain that young man will bring his family down someday.

"Your father might have been a much happier man had he been true to his first intention...," there was no way to soften this, "He truly loved your mother John and wanted to marry her, but ultimately gave in to his father's threats and demands. I am the one who placed you with the Barrows."

And my mother?" John said bitterly.

Blevins knew that John would settle for nothing less than unvarnished truth, "A few days after a long and difficult delivery she simply lost her will to live. Grief and shame took their toll. Her family was paid off, and that was the end of it."

John was quiet for some time. Unsure of the exact nature of his feelings, he was at least certain of this much, he did not feel hatred. His father was not entitled to that degree of emotion from him. But he did determine then and there to be a different sort of man than his father. He would be a better man.

After giving John some time with his thoughts, Mr. Blevins continued, "I wish you would consider my offer, young man. You have a logical turn of mind, strong powers of reason and deduction allied with a natural intuition. This was brought home to me when you first beat me at chess. I believe you were six at the time and no, unfortunately, the game was not thrown. And, as I remember, your curiosity gets the better of you! You were never above putting an ear to the door when the situation demanded it. Think it over, John. It's as if you were born to this."

For the first time in many days, a hint of a smile crossed John's face.

* * *

Chapter 7

What followed was a rigorous five-year apprenticeship of sorts. At least three years were devoted almost entirely to, of all things, an intense study of the law, especially common law with particular emphasis placed on the civil, criminal and business branches, and cannon law as related to matters of divorce and probate. As Mr. Blevins explained, "We work _with_ the law here John. In order to adhere to it, and on occasion work around it, you must of necessity be acquainted with it. Don't worry, you'll have more than your share of excitement in due time."

Immersing himself in the dull, seemingly endless volumes of Mr. Blevins' library, John was able to console himself with the knowledge that, at some point he would spend the majority of his time out from under them. As a professor, Mr. Blevins was strict and thorough, and his knowledge extensive. John received at the very least, as exacting an education as if he had studied with the best Cambridge had to offer.

Next came a year of actually learning the business. John was introduced to various contacts and persons for hire who supplied the information, leg-work and man power necessary to one needing to be in several places at one time. Some of these characters appeared particularly unsavory, introducing to John the possible element of danger. Mr. Blevins, quite capable of self-protection, emphasized to John the necessity of being alert and aware at all times, of never relaxing his guard, of always allowing for escape. John came to understand why Mr. Blevins charged seemingly enormous sums of money for his services. Overhead was high, and with good reason. Capable people were only to be had for a price, and trustworthiness was optional. Finally, all that was left to learn experience would have to teach.

As John continued to prove himself over the course of the next two years, he was made responsible for a greater share of each case, till finally he was given his own. It was not an easy one, as Mr. Blevins would not have insulted John in that manner. But though the case was handled successfully, Mr. Blevins saw the need to make John aware of one potential problem.

"You are very like your father in one respect, John."

"I should hope not, sir."

"In this instance, I would hope not as well. You are too impetuous. At times you say and do things that require unnecessary effort to undo. I lost a valuable contact on that case because you would not bridle your tongue. Your very life may one day depend on a word left unsaid."

John considered his years at Eton, and the many difficulties he had found himself in because of not heeding Bingley's similar advice. He had no choice but to admit the justice of Mr. Blevins' admonition. The stakes were much higher now, and John promised Mr. Blevins that he would put forth an effort to change.

But soon there would be no one to make, and perhaps break, such a promise to but himself. John had begun to notice over the course of the past few months that Mr. Blevins was slowing down, and it pained him to see it. It became a source of distress to John that he might one day have to speak to his partner. But in this instance at least, Mr. Blevins would still be one step ahead. On the very day John decided to say something about it, Mr. Blevins had an announcement to make.

"I have something important to discuss with you, John. Forty-one years of this foolishness is quite enough. I'm going to retire."

John had thought of him playing a less active role perhaps, but certainly not this, "Sir, you cannot..."

"Oh, but I can! You're quite capable, certainly much more so than I was at your age. I would like to see you take it over. Buy out the business, lease the house. I think you'll be pleased with my terms," Mr. Blevins placed a contract on the table, "If you want it, it's yours,"

John read it over. The terms were very generous _. Too_ generous, "Sir, I cannot..."

"Don't try my patience John. There is one suggestion I would make; in the interest of discretion you might want to take a professional name. This will allow you to keep your public and private lives separate. Your clients will also prefer this. When in someone's employ, you will use your working name only. Should you and your client both decide to continue your acquaintance - though that seldom happens - you can then make a proper introduction using your true identity." Mr. Blevins chuckled briefly, "I have been in rooms full of people who most pointedly did not know me. It can be lonely, unfortunately that goes with the territory, but you'll get used to it. By the way, I've wrapped up things nicely on my end. All of my cases are closed."

"Yes, indeed sir, but..."

"I know that I will not be meeting with unnecessary opposition," said Mr. Blevins, as he pushed the contract and a pen towards John. Speechless for once in his life, John looked closely into his mentor's face for any sign of wavering. Finding quite the opposite, John hesitated one heartbeat longer, then signed the paper.

Mr. Blevins offered his hand to John, "Well this is it I suppose. You're on your own now. I have every confidence that you'll do well."

John was still in shock, not quite certain of what to say. "If success is dependent on the teacher, then I have every assurance of doing well." With emotion Barrow continued, "But this is all so sudden sir. I feel inadequate to say what needs to be said. Please sir, accept my thanks for everything that you've done for me. I hope you won't mind my saying this, but if I ever had the pleasure of calling anyone father, I would have liked one such as you."

"And a less pig-headed version of yourself would have made the ideal son," said Mr. Blevins, uncomfortable with such a sentimental turn in the conversation.

John continued on, undaunted, "But there's something else sir, I have two requests to make of you. First, I'd be honored if you would permit me to carry on the use of _your_ name, and secondly," here John smiled, "as I would be more greatly honored to carry on our acquaintance, what is your _true_ name sir?"

Both requests were granted. John Barrow took the working name John Blevins. And Sir John Murdock, whose title bespoke very pleased clients in high places indeed, retired to the country.

~~O~~


	5. Chapters 8-10

Chapter 8

Over time, it became apparent that the calling cards of Mr. John Thomas Barrow were being used much less frequently, and the business cards of Mr. John Blevins more and more so. John had never had many companions, but now, with so little free time in which to cultivate friendships, they were gone. He often thought of Bingley and Darcy, but those bridges had been burned long ago. Outside of his former mentor, whose company and advice were often sought, there was no one left he could call friend. It was, he supposed, part of the parcel that his employ would so serve to overtake his private life, of this much he had been warned. More alarming, perhaps, was the knowledge that he was growing used to it. It was good for the purse but, he had to admit, not very prosperous for the soul. And while he enjoyed his work too much to say that he was unhappy, there was a lingering feeling that something was missing that should not be.

He was pondering that very thought one day as he set out to meet with a potential client. Making his way along his customary route, he was at a familiar corner when he had to stop for several carriages to pass before crossing. While waiting, he happened to turn and found himself facing Smith's Haberdashery, a shop that he had seldom noticed before. But this day would be different. John remained in front of the shop window for some time, till he finally realized that it was not the display which had captured his attention, but a person inside. He entered Smith's shop and surreptitiously set about observing said person, a young lady, who was at that moment assisting another customer. Perhaps, abusing would be a better word, although the patron seemed delighted with being so favored. Though she was obviously pretty, there was something else about her that drew John's attention. She had an unaffected, playful manner that made her doubly appealing.

"Arabella!" said the proprietor, nodding pointedly in John's direction.

"Yes, father." She then addressed John, "Excuse me sir, I'll be with you in a moment."

"No! No, thank you. That won't be necessary. I'm only looking about to see what you have here." Shortly thereafter he left the shop, with one rather pleasant thought in the back of his mind.

Whatever it was, exactly, going on in the back of John's mind that day, seemed to have a beneficial effect on the rest of it as well. He did not seem to find it at all irksome that his would-be client failed to step forward to meet him. _Neither the first time, nor the last_ , he reminded himself, and went on to attend to his other business with rather more buoyancy than usual.

As John passed the window the next day, he found himself inexplicably drawn back to the door and into the shop again. This was new territory indeed, and being somewhat at a loss to explain himself he asked for gloves. He was so fortunate as to be waited on by that same young lady, who brought it to his attention that he was leaning on the case displaying said objects. John had to smile at his own stupidity which, as it so happens, was another fortunate thing. Considering himself rather plain, John could have no idea how much his smile transformed his appearance. It was of the traveling variety, starting with his eyes before working its way downward. And he most certainly had no idea that this smile could ever serve as artillery in battles of a tender nature, but it did. It got him noticed.

So it answered that, upon his fourth visit to follow up on this sudden interest in hand protection, Arabella made the following observation, "Excuse me sir, but it isn't often that I've come across a gentleman so _very_ determined to improve his knowledge of gloves."

John felt the fool, and reddened slightly as he replied, "It's been a while since my last purchase. I need several new pair."

At that, Arabella picked up one pair from among the many spread across the counter and leaned in closer, as if to explain some important detail of workmanship. In a low voice she said, "I _see_. Well sir, you must have twenty hands at least. And had you not been so occupied in purchasing gloves for _all_ of them, you might have noticed that you're being followed. These past three days."

Though shocked by the information - and the source of it - John's question went no further than his eyes.

Arabella quietly answered, "In the very back, sir, to my left is a gentleman in a black great coat. He enters the shop soon after you arrive, and leaves directly you leave"

John reached for one of the gloves as if to admire it, and sent it tumbling to the floor. As he bent down to retrieve it, a glance to the back of the shop left him surprised, and more than a little concerned.

"Please set these three pair aside for me. I will be back tomorrow to purchase."

John left at a nonchalant pace till out of sight of the shop window. He then quickly pulled back into the recessed entrance of an adjacent building. It didn't take long for the black clad figure to walk past, looking about as if to find someone. John stepped out of the shadows and angrily confronted him.

"What do **_you_** want?"

The man started, then recovered, "I was to meet with a gentleman. The card said Blevins. **_You_** are not Blevins!"

"And it took you three days to make this discovery?"

"I spent three days in shock of seeing **_you_**. I had planned to confront you today. I see that your tongue has not changed, Finch."

John slowly stepped forward, lowered his voice, and said in tones of frost and heat combined, "Let me make one thing _abundantly_ clear. Should you decide to retain me I am John Blevins to you, if not, I am John Barrow. There is no Finch here. **_Is_** that understood?"

Though larger in build, Robert Winslow threw up his hands and stepped back. "You have no argument from me."

"Good, as I'll only say it once!" Calmed sufficiently, John continued, "Now, do you require my assistance or not?"

"Yes!" the man's demeanor changed completely, "Yes, I must. I have a sister.. "

"Come, let us talk in private."

Seated in a back room of a nearby tavern, Winslow continued, "My sister has made a bad match... to someone you know all too well from school. I feel I am to blame because I encouraged it. Now, I and all my family want to see her extracted from this in the most honorable way possible. But there is the burden of proof, you see, and it has been difficult thus far to satisfy certain requirements. Whatever the cost, I want to see Penelope happy again. You come highly recommended. Will you help me?"

* * *

Chapter 9

The events of yesterday left John with two unfinished pieces of business. The first took him to the imposing town home of the family of his former schoolmate, where he met with the young married lady, attended by her father and brother. He agreed to help them with a matter of extreme delicacy. But as much as John relished the prospect of assisting them, he had to admit that he'd saved the most pleasant appointment for last. And now, as he approached Smith's, the beginnings of a smile lit his face.

Arabella looked up as John entered the shop. She was not aware of it, but relief and pleasure were evident in her countenance. "Good afternoon, Sir!"

She disappeared briefly into the back room, and came back out with several sets of gloves waiting for purchase. "You know sir, I was very concerned yesterday afternoon. I thought that I would have three pair of perfectly good gloves set aside for all eternity."

Being an astute judge of character John surmised, correctly, that coming from Miss Arabella Smith, this constituted concern for his safety and well-being. That happy thought gave him a great deal of pleasure, and made him bold.

"I owe you thanks, Miss Smith. I was not on my guard as I should have been. Something here may have distracted me, I believe." John handed Arabella his card. "If you would, please, send your boy around. I'd like my purchase to be delivered."

"Yes, Mr..." she quickly perused the card, "...Barrow, that will be arranged."

After standing for a few moments in silence, John was about to give way to the logic of taking his leave when a gallant though entered his mind, "If I might add Miss Smith, I've had the pleasure of hearing your given name, and it has a lyrical, an almost musical quality to it."

Though often successful in quelling his impulsive tendencies there would be no battle here. True to his nature he quickly added, "And if you choose your next name well, that quality could be even further enhanced." Realizing his blunder John blushed furiously, not quite believing what he'd just said. _Good lord, John! You've made a mess out of that one._ As he gathered his belongings and made to leave, he managed to add, "Have a pleasant day, Miss Smith."

Arabella Smith was not green. She had come to the conclusion years ago that gentlemen as a class were not to be trusted and had, over time, grown quite adept at fending off their amorous advances. But she was somewhat at a loss here. Being an astute judge of character she surmised, correctly, that coming from Mr. John Thomas Barrow this extraordinary statement constituted more than idle flirtation. She was left shaking her head in astonishment. Despite the fact that Mr. Barrow appeared to be involved in something clandestine, Arabella felt certain that there was something very good, honest and true in this man. As to looks, he was not what one would readily call handsome. Yet there was something about his countenance and the way he carried himself that could easily make one think otherwise. All this was rendered even more appealing because he was so completely unaware of it. True to her nature Arabella would be cautious, but she could not help but feel that this time her heart was wise.

~~O~~

Chapter 10

Despite John's growing interest in hats, handkerchiefs, and indeed _all_ things Smith's shop had to offer, he managed to attend to business as well. His latest case in particular showed great promise. Even the most rudimentary of preliminary investigations uncovered a veritable treasure trove of probable sins: adultery, extortion, drunkenness, assault, breech of promise, questionable financial dealings... etc., etc. John smiled at the veritable cornucopia of vice from which to choose, and decided to go for as many as possible.

Early on in the game John realized that this one would be difficult. Based on prior experience alone, he knew that it would be a gross miscalculation to dismiss Winslow's brother-in-law as being a stupid man. Quite the opposite, he was dangerously clever. And judging from his alert posture, John could tell that he had grown used to being super-cautious. This fact, coupled with the likely danger of being recognized if seen, demanded that John use all of his skill to follow him. He could have employed someone else to do this, but rather enjoyed the challenge and wanted to leave nothing to chance. However, on this day the risk would prove too great.

At what must have been an appointed place, John noticed a rather short, portly figure emerge from a doorway. A brief glance of acknowledgment passed between this man and John's mark. The two of them continued on, together but not obviously so. Barrow knew this second man by one of his many aliases, Mr. Harold C. Finney, man about town, fraud and swindler of the first degree. Many well-lined purses had been emptied by his promises of low risk, high yield investments, promises that had blown away like so much chaff. But he could never be caught, as his methods always involved partnership with some hapless soul who would do that service for him. This time though, whether or not he was aware of it, Harold Finney had formed a pact with the devil.

They eventually turned, no doubt by pre-arrangement, into a small tavern. John was no longer able to follow this unholy alliance, as the danger of discovery was too great. Things had taken an unexpected turn indeed! Assistance at this point would be essential, but before plans along that line were made John would need additional information.

The next day saw John at the house of his client. Over a glass of port, he broached the subject, "Winslow, I need to know something. Have you made any recent acquaintances, perhaps someone by the name of Harold Finney?"

"Finney...? Finney... no, though the name does sound familiar. I believe I'm confusing it with Fanning, Mr. Henry Fanning, a gentleman I met at the club a few days ago."

"This Mr. Fanning, what sort of fellow is he?"

"In point of appearance, I'd say he's a rather short gentleman, and extraordinary for his height and girth being about the same. A very pleasant fellow, to the point of being a bit naive. And generous! ... after some prodding that is. Somewhere during the course of the evening he let drop some information regarding a very promising investment he'd recently made. It was apparent that he'd made a gaffe, and had not meant to speak of it. However my brother-in-law, who seldom misses anything having to do with money, would not let it rest. He pounded the poor man incessantly, till Fanning finally promised to let us all in on his little secret."

"Just out of curiosity, what sort of investment is this?"

"It's a little mother lode of a gold mine, in Guyana if I'm not mistaken. Supposed to be the biggest find in fifty years. Fanning will be bringing his portfolio with him tomorrow evening," Winslow picked up on John's inquisitiveness, and threw him a sly smile, "Interested, are you John? I tell you what," he continued on in an expansive mood, "Since we've been friends for so long, if you finish up with our little unpleasantness in good time... I might just let you in on it!"

John nearly choked on his libation but quickly recovered. Raising his tumbler he toasted his companion, " _That_ is encouragement indeed! You are the very best of men, Winslow." All mirth stayed within where it served him best. He left quickly thereafter, as fresh air was needed to reorder his thoughts. _Like lambs to the slaughter_ , John said to himself. He shook his head and wondered just how far reaching this would prove to be.

* * *

Not half a mile away, in the town house of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, a young man was making a decision. Mr. Charles Bingley had lately been very much in doubt of his own abilities, and was seriously considering whether or not to spread his wings, to make his first independent decision in almost a year. Ultimately, his choice would be based on facts seen tomorrow evening, but even at this stage it sounded not only impressive, but highly plausible.

Even Darcy seemed to feel that it might be a sound investment, although he would not involve himself, "You're on your own here Bingley. Nothing against foreign investments, I simply prefer to keep things closer to home. From what you've said, your Mr. Fanning seems to know what he's talking about. If he has the paperwork to back his claims, and everything is in good order, then go for it. I would make one recommendation though, find out a little more about this Mr. Fanning."

Not quite one month ago, Bingley's meager supply of self-assurance had been sorely depleted when he fell victim to unrequited love. It was bad enough that his love was not returned, but Bingley's very powers of perception, which had led him to hope his attentions reciprocated, had been proven by Darcy to be deficient. There was no need for money as the reason behind taking this bold step. He was certainly not motivated by greed. But there _was_ the need for restored confidence.

Yes, this prospect was tempting indeed!

~~O~~


	6. Chapters 11-13

Authors Note: Phyloxena, theswallowsclub, royal-cobalt, NotACursedChild, Shey72, Deanna27, a couple of guests, and last but certainly not least, big sister Botsey, thanks for the reviews! They're greatly appreciated. :-)

Chapter 11

John started out early next morning, as there was much work to be done. First order of the day, a letter was written and dispatched by express to his old friend, Sir John Murdock. Barrow would be the first to admit that whatever natural talents he possessed served as poor substitute for this man's considerable experience. Due to the likely urgency of this matter, John felt it most expedient to consult with him.

Next on John's list was to make contact with his connection at White's, the very club that Winslow belonged to. This always involved waiting, as he would need to catch Todd as he ran the occasional errand for some particularly demanding member. William Todd was an odd little man. Despite his uncanny resemblance to the local costermonger, William's mother had convinced him early on that he was a wealthy nobleman's son. Consequently, as a young boy he learned to put on airs, cultivating the type of bearing that recommended him first as page, then as footman, and once even butler, in a progression of increasingly wealthy households. He thus left his grimy siblings and soot soiled street life far behind.

But Todd was on a mission. He had determined to find his father and get whatever was rightfully his. It was, after all, bitter physic that he should be more truly the gentleman in birth and breeding than some of those who barked orders and paid him no mind. To quicken his search he found employ at White's. Only those in the first circles had membership there, and no doubt his father would be among that number. As a member of the wait staff, he would have ample opportunity to listen, to observe. Since William Todd enjoyed the notion of overturning rocks to see what crawled beneath, yes he would be John's spy, all the while savoring his bitter pill. Barrow did not like this man, but no one better served his purpose.

Their meeting was as brief as possible. John gave Todd the names of those to whom he was to be particularly solicitous to this evening, and gave him an idea of what to listen for and what sort of documents to take note of. Barrow knew that Todd's prim correctness would allow him to accomplish this with little or no attention drawn to himself. He was, after all, a very model of discretion.

For his second contact, John had only to cross a particular corner at a particular time. Timothy Scoggins would be there, and would follow him. Timothy was paid a healthy retainer for this service, and he knew which side his bread was buttered on. Or rather, Tim liked butter to both sides of his bread. Part time footpad, burglar, and petty thief, his arrangement with John left him with plenty of time in which to pursue his other interests. Barrow lived in dread of ever loosing Scoggins to the hangman's rope, for this man possessed a talent the likes of which John had never seen before. Left to his own devices, he could barely sign his name, but let someone else do the writing... When Scoggins wrote it down again every t was crossed and every i dotted. If they were not, it was the fault of the original author, for Scoggins remembered it all. No manuscript was too long, and no amount of time faded his memory.

As John passed the designated corner, he did not need to look behind him to know that from a distance, Scoggins' loping stride matched his own. As soon as they were safe from prying eyes, John turned and addressed him with a smile, "I'm glad that you've lived to see another day, Scoggins."

"No more than I am, guv'nor! At your service, sir."

"I need you to trail someone."

A time and place was given for later that day so that John could indicate to Tim who his target would be. Even though Fanning would make for a fairly easy portrait, John would not rely on description alone, "Further instructions will come tomorrow, but first we must find the dog's den. And whatever you do, don't lose this one. Are you up to it?"

"That dog stands a far better chance of losin' his flea."

* * *

The next day, John was not disappointed. Todd was, as always, more thorough than was necessary, but John had patience with him. Consequently, along with a minute description of the documents within, John was subjected to Todd's speculations on the type and quality of leather, and even which shop on Bond Street might have sold the case itself. John was also given an idea of what sort of attention Fanning commanded. In his unassuming, insidious way, this crafty swindler had managed to recommend himself to at least half those present.

Fanning had put on an impressive display. Maps, surveys, geological reports, receipts showing current production (Oh, what production!), and prospectus showing projected production after infusion of additional capital, all with the slightly dog-eared appearance of papers that have had to travel many miles, and pass through many hands before reaching their final destination. That in itself gave some indication of authenticity. Yes, Fanning knew what he was about! Now, to see these papers up close, in a manner of speaking. John checked his watch. Since it was almost time, he set off to meet Timothy Scoggins.

In his excitement, Scoggins was not holding up the wall as was normally the case when John passed by. In fact, Tim had to restrain himself from following immediately behind. Fortunately he managed to draw no undue attention.

At the appointed spot John addressed him, "Scoggins, I take it you have absolutely no news at all?"

"I have _twice_ the news guv'nor. Our fat little pup has two dens, 'e does! He was not in his first one five minutes a'fore 'e popped out again. The second had a lady in it. He spent considerable more time in that one."

"Was he carrying anything?"

"For part of th' time 'e was. Had some kind of fancy case with 'im, looked to be for business. But it seems 'e didn'a want to discuss business with the lady, as the case stayed at home."

"It's that case I'm interested in, everything in it, along with any papers you might come across in his room. Anything written, any correspondence, anything at all. And Tim?"

"Ay, sir?"

"Quickly, and no foolish chances. Take someone with you to keep watch, someone with their wits about them."

"Not to worry, guv'nor. Our pup likes 'is second home _far_ better. I'll be long gone a'fore 'e's back."

* * *

John went home to check the day's mail, and again was not disappointed. Sir John Murdock's list of those in some way indebted to him was long. On that list was a very recently retired civil servant, a Mr. Albert Wellingham, only just arrived back in England from his final post. This man had spent three of the last seven years in, of all places, Guyana. He was a wealth of information and would be prepared to speak with John should the need arise.

Things were coming together very nicely indeed!

* * *

Chapter 12

It took nearly one full day of laborious writing for Timothy Scoggins to record everything he had seen. In order for him to enjoy some measure of comfort during this, his least favorite part of the procedure, John put Scoggins up in a comfortable room, making sure that he received whatever was required. As often as possible, Barrow stopped by to check on his progress.

On one such visit, they sat for some time in companionable silence. Tim, while writing in that slow, cramped style of his, would often look up from his efforts to gauge John's reaction to what he was reading. Two things in particular seemed to command his attention. The first was a letter. It read as follows:

 _Mr. Fanning,_

 _I was extremely displeased by your recent attempt to back out of our original agreement. I see that you do not understand me. Let me clarify one key point; our arrangement will stand en toto, with no addendums, abridgments, or alterations of any kind. Let me also state in no uncertain terms that further attempts to renege on your part will be dealt with severely. This is no idle threat sir, as I am possessed of the means to throw misfortune your way. Put succinctly, I will flatten you like the worm you are._

 _If anyone is in a position to renegotiate, I am. Without me you would not have had the means to carry out our little game. You would not have had the capital with which to plan and put it into motion, and most importantly, you would not have had access to White's willing gentlemen._

 _On second consideration, perhaps I will choose to make adjustments to our agreement after all..._

The letter rambled further along these lines. It was not signed, but Barrow needed no signature to comprehend its author. There could be no doubt. Suddenly, John was reminded of another letter he had received long ago, and how easily its author could be comprehended. A thought came to him.

"Tim."

"Sir?"

"This letter, was it written on plain paper or special stock?"

"Oh, it was very fancy sir. It 'ad a crest on it, with a shield, swords and mace. And a bird or two thrown in for the bargain."

John considered this act of supreme stupidity, and thanked the author for his generosity. The original of this letter would be a valuable document to have. Along with the other evidence he had gathered on Winslow's brother-in-law, this would serve to nail the coffin shut. But not wanting to put Scoggins at risk again, and not yet wanting to sound an alarm, John considered other ways to get his hands on it.

The second item to catch Barrow's attention was a lengthy lists of names. Titled simply, White's, it appeared to be a list of possible 'investors', with corresponding amounts of money to be expected. Emphasizing the mercenary nature of this operation, Fanning had arranged the names of his potential victims in descending order of projected capital. More than likely, this would allow him to concentrate his efforts on those willing and able to part with the most.

All of a sudden John let out an oath. Scoggins looked up, as he had never heard such language from his employer before. The look on John's face made Tim arch his brow, and put his head back down again. Holding his head with one hand Barrow studied the list intently, then finally let it fall to his lap. There, midway down the first page, was the name of his old Eton friend, Mr. Charles Bingley!

* * *

Meanwhile at this same moment Mr. Bingley, inclined to think that Darcy had indeed given sound advice on this point, sought to find out a little more about Mr. Fanning. On the recommendation of an acquaintance who had recently required his services, Bingley penned a letter to a gentleman by the name of John Blevins.

* * *

Chapter 13

John felt the urgency of what he must do and was anxious to be gone. But since Timothy had informed him that his task was almost done, John satisfied himself with pacing the room. All the while thoughts turned in his head. Most of these thoughts were on the job at hand, planning his next step and weighing his options, but some thoughts took the shape of memories. He did not hear Scoggins call to him. It took the second time to get his attention.

"Guv'nor?"

"Yes Tim?"

"Here it is complete, but a'fore you go grabbin' and runnin' off, there's something else I need to tell you. I saved it for last so it would be first on your mind. Expect more than just papers in that case of 'is."

John's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"There's a knife in'nit too sir, and it's far too long for trimming 'is nails."

John was quiet for a moment. He had not expected this side to Fanning. Apparently the threatening letter he had received might have unsettled him to the point of taking drastic precautions. Fanning could possibly be dangerous when cornered. This was valuable information, indeed.

"Thank you Scoggins, you're a good man."

"Oh, I'm a sight less than that, guv'nor! More to the point sir, you'll be good to _me_."

* * *

Barrow took all of the papers relating to the mine with him when he went to speak with Sir John's acquaintance, Mr Wellingham. He did indeed prove to be a wealth of information. Not only was he familiar with that part of Guyana, but he had had occasion to tour the region extensively before leaving the country. In fact, his knowledge post dated several of the transcribed documents John showed to him. Mr Wellingham could not help but express amazement at such a wondrous display of divine intervention. For indeed, it would take nothing short of a miracle to transform what was useless wasteland into such fine wealth as this!

* * *

After this conversation, John headed towards home to check for new correspondence. He slowed his steps as he approached Smith's. It had been several days since he had last stopped by. There was precious little time to spare, but he must make the time. As fate would have it, the shop was full and Arabella had not one free moment of her own. He caught her eye and smiled, she returned it. After waiting for several minutes he had to take his leave. With apology on his face John turned and left the shop. Arabella saw him leave with regret. If John could only have seen into Arabella's mind, he would somehow have found a way to stay.

For Arabella was in a quandary. Despite being a woman of good sense she had once again failed to follow her own best advice. She had fallen in love with a man she knew little about. Meanwhile, the object of her affection seemed to be pulling away from her. _Is it his work?_ She was certain that he had some type of profession. He adhered to such a strict schedule, often attending to his watch and leaving in a hurry, that there could be little doubt that business called him away. _But what is his business?_ He was so secretive, parrying her most skillful questioning into more neutral territory. Her only concern was that John was involved in something unlawful, and his unwillingness to speak on the matter seemed to make this a possibility. _I am afraid for him._

And she was afraid for herself as well. Suppose, against every intuitive feeling to the contrary, Mr. Barrow was toying with her affections? She had been hurt before and had determined never to be hurt again. And if he was serious, as she believed him to be? _Candor on his part will require equal measure from me._ Such inner turmoil was taking its toll.

But John had not yet learned to read Arabella, and so he left. And it just so happened that there was a very important letter waiting for him when he returned home, a letter from Mr. Charles Bingley requesting the services of Mr. John Blevins.

~~O~~


	7. Chapters 14-16

Chapter 14

After breaking the seal with some violence and scanning the contents with haste, John was able to breathe a sigh of relief. He was reassured that Bingley had not yet committed himself. But not wanting to set off a general alarm at White's, one thing was left to be done before he could pen his reply - he must remove the threat.

Having stayed up all night with Scoggins, John suddenly realized that he had gone a full day without sleep. This in itself was not unusual; the fact that he felt suddenly exhausted by it was. But he would not give way. After a hot bath, a change of clothes and a very late breakfast, he set out again. It was now well after mid-day. Happy that he would soon be through with this whole sordid affair, he checked his watch and turned towards the dog's den. Scoggins had informed him that Fanning had the custom of leaving from his back door directly into a secluded mews and that he was punctual in his habits. Where matters of personal safety were concerned, the man was a fool. It was a good thing for him that John would be there to welcome him and help him see the error of his ways. Like clockwork Fanning appeared, case in hand. John stepped forward to block his progress.

"The game is up, Fanning."

"Sir, I have no earthly idea what you're talking about!"

"Oh, but I think you do."

"I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is not Fanning, it's Finney." He reached to open his case. "I can identify myself as I have the proof right..."

John's hand darted out to stop him. His fingers held Fanning's wrist in a vise-like grip. "Finney's game is up as well. Don't bother opening that case. I know what's in it. You would be no match for me."

Increasing pressure on his wrist caused Fanning to drop the case. John picked it up. "You will have no further need for this. But I'm not here to best you, Fanning, I'm here to make you an offer."

Seeing that his game was _indeed_ up, Fanning's manner changed from righteous indignation to incredulous curiosity, "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Since your continued well-being is in question, what I have to offer will be of paramount interest to you. Freedom and safety. Nothing more, nothing less. You are not the one I'm after, in fact you're of little concern to me. However, there is something in your possession that I require, a letter from your associate. Don't give me that blank look, Fanning! Library desk, left hand side, third drawer from the top. You will give it to me now and write a letter in return. Then I will see to your safe passage from town."

Suspecting that fear would be Fanning's primary motivation, John was not surprised at his willingness to comply. There was never any loyalty, and certainly no honor lost between these two thieves. John followed Fanning back inside so that he could retrieve the letter, then instructed him to pen a note to his partner, coaching him as he wrote.

"Inform him that you no longer have the stomach for this scheme and that you are leaving town for good. Let him know that there were certain sensitive documents that you didn't want to leave behind or keep in your possession, and that you were good enough to forward a packet containing these documents to his in-laws' house. Tell him that if he is swift, he might possibly prevent Mr. Winslow from opening the packet, but swiftness will be needed, as that gentleman appeared to be all curiosity."

Fanning exclaimed at having to write such, "This is suicide!"

"You made that choice when you first shook hands with him. My only concern is that it not happen on my watch. Write it. **_Now_**! I don't have all day to hold your hand!" The note was completed and sealed. John slipped it into his pocket.

True to his word, John now saw to Fanning's safety. Under the guardianship of a well-muscled escort, Mr. Henry Fanning was trundled away in the refuge of Barrow's equipage. John, who was not above hiring a hack should the need arise, would gladly forgo his carriage for the next few days. His footmen had special instructions to see to the security of their charge. But before Fanning took his leave, Barrow had one final warning.

"If you return I will know. Your punishment will be as swift and severe as the law will allow. And as a reminder, your former partner will also know if you are seen here again. His memory is long Fanning, he will not forget you. The law would be a gentle mother by comparison." Barrow closed the carriage door by way of punctuation.

As he settled into his seat, Fanning contemplated perhaps another line of work in the north of England.

The letter, and other documents imperative to the case against Winslow's brother-in-law were delivered to the Winslow's town house. Father and son were instructed to contact their attorneys, and to have a magistrate there to welcome the arrival of the guest of honor. John now set out for White's. He would send this guest to them.

* * *

William Todd looked at Barrow as though he had soiled his entryway. Without uttering a word his eyes said it all. _Have you lost your mind, man? You are to meet me only on the street! Certainly not here, at the club!_ John was swiftly losing his patience with this man but held his tongue a while longer, "I have an important message for one of your more illustrious members," John held the envelope so Todd could see the name on the letter that Fanning had written, "He should be leaving shortly. After he is gone come back to me."

In that space of time John penned a note of his own. Upon Todd's return, John passed the note to him and requested that he give it to Mr. Charles Bingley. Though it was after the fact, the source of danger having just been removed, John still felt that some good might come from this communication. Through the open door he could just catch a glimpse of someone who must be his friend from long ago. For a fleeting moment John felt like a child with his face pressed to the glass of a confectioners shop, and not a ha'penney to his name. But he soon checked himself. Shrugging off his burdensome mantle of melancholy, he turned and walked away.

* * *

Meanwhile, seated within a cluster of gentlemen discussing Fanning's opportunity for financial windfall, Charles kept his reservations to himself. Far from suspicious by nature, Darcy had been the one to plant the seed of doubt in his mind, and Bingley had acted on it. Listening to the excitement in the voices around him, Bingley knew that his sentiments were certainly in the minority. Todd approached him with a note in hand.

Seeing who it was from, Bingley could not help but be pleased by such a swift response to his inquiry. Indeed, it seemed that the ink was not yet dry on the page! He opened the note and read the following:

Dear Sir,

It just so happens that I am, at present, keenly interested in the activities of Mr. Fanning. He is a fraud, sir. If you have initiated any business dealings with this man I suggest that you put an end to them immediately, and warn anyone else who might have come under his influence to pull out with all urgency. His latest scheme involves a supposed overseas gold mine. This is a sham. Mr. Albert Wellingham, formerly in the service of His Majesty in the colony of Guyana is available to corroborate should this be necessary.

You inquired after my fee for this service. There is no charge. As previously mentioned, this information was already at my disposal. I am only too pleased to be of assistance.

Sincerely,

Mr. John Blevins

Bingley looked up, his face flushed with the urgency of the situation, "Gentlemen! I have an important piece of news..."

* * *

As one of White's newest members and possessed of a very recent source of wealth, Bingley was used to being taken not very seriously by his fellow members. But now, for the first time since his admittance he was commanding not only their attention, but their respect and gratitude.

John's note served him well.

Chapter 15

As Barrow headed homeward he puzzled over a problem very close to his heart. He had quite exhausted Smith's inventory, and would soon need to declare his feelings for Arabella in, perhaps, less obtuse fashion. One problem was inexperience with this particular emotion, as he had never been in love before. Oh, he had admired, and on occasion allowed idle thoughts to wander, but there had never been this affliction he was feeling now. Sir John, confirmed old bachelor that he was, could offer no assistance. The idea of being refused had almost frozen John into inactivity. And, to him, the possibility of refusal was a likelihood.

To John's way of thinking, there was little to fascinate, and no glory or allure attached to his profession, it was simply what he did. His only pride came from doing it well. He was aware though, that to some with uninformed, impressionable minds, those whose over-eager imaginations were fired off in an instant, the art of detection seemed to be all that was mystery and romance. Miss Smith, he suspected, would be neither uninformed nor impressionable, and John was rather concerned what effect any disclosure on his part might have on her. _Will she think me a liar or braggart? ...or will she be afraid of me?_

And then there was the matter of his birth. Arabella, from a hardworking, respectable family, had both father and mother. He had neither. Although John would be able to support her very well, he sometimes wondered if perhaps this might be the greatest deterrent of all. But something must be done, for Arabella, normally cheerful and talkative, had been lately growing more cautious and quiet.

With this thought in mind, instead of going directly home, John's tired feet carried him in another direction. This time Smith's had but one customer, and he was it. He looked at Arabella longingly, how he would love to tell her all! For a brief moment it seemed to John that revelation would somehow be the solution to all of his problems. But then caution intervened. There was far too much to tell her all at once, he reasoned. And in his current state, he would have difficulty determining how much he could safely disclose. So instead, he settled on the pleasure of hearing her sweet voice, and seeing such a face as angels would wish for.

"Oh, sir! Are you unwell?"

"Unwell? No Ara...Miss Smith," he shook his head as if to clear it, "No, I am a bit tired perhaps, but that is all."

Arabella looked at him closely, "A _bit_ tired indeed. You are exhausted, sir, and need to be home!" _Oh John, what are you about?_

At Arabella's insistence he agreed to go. His one source of comfort would not suffer his foolishness gladly today. But there was the comfort of knowing that she seemed to care for him.

As John prepared to leave he met two men on their way in. John knew one of them very well, having just seen him a few short hours ago, and lack of sleep seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. Barrow glanced at him meaningfully, then nodded as he made his way to the door. Timothy Scoggins was well familiar with that look, and knew that to engage in his side line at this time would be most disadvantageous.

"Movin' in high society, are ye' now?" said his companion, "So, Scoggins, how did you ever come 'ta know such a high class gen'l'man as that?"

"Oh, he's a good enough one I suppose."

Since her father was well along in years and rather feeble, Arabella had learned long ago to look out for the likes of these two. But John had acknowledged one of them! _Why does he consort with thieves?_ Despite immediate alarm, Arabella did not lose her wits. Since she could make out their conversation very well from her current location, Arabella found reason to be much slower than usual in putting away her wares.

Scoggins continued on in a confidential tone, "You may've 'eard the name John Blevins. That's wot he goes by, but his real name is Barrow. It's all one in the same. He's sort'a like one o' them ah... them Bow Street fellas, the Runners, only high end. Very posh that one. Only works for the quality. And 'e only goes after the big fish too, not our kind. I work for him from time to time," Though assuming a stance of nonchalance, pride was evident in his voice. "Well Jim, as he's done seen us the game is up. I suppose it behooves me to buy somethin' now I'm 'ere. Keep the guv'nor 'appy."

Scoggins now spoke to be heard, "Excuse me Miss, you wouldn'a 'appen to have any genl'man's 'andkerchiefs 'ereabouts, would you?"

As Arabella turned the lock on these, her last two customers of the day, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. John was not a criminal. _And perhaps he will understand me_ , she thought to herself, as she allowed herself the luxury of a hopeful smile.

* * *

Chapter 16

Upon arriving home, Barrow made good on his promise to Arabella. Much to the dismay of Simmons, his valet, John fell into bed, boots on, and didn't come back out again till mid morning. He was spent. Over a cup of strong coffee the next day, he had to admit that not all was due to lack of sleep. After six long years since taking his leave from Eton, it had been such a shock to cross paths with Charles Bingley again. Though John never regretted leaving as he had, he never felt satisfied with his chosen method of separating from his friend. It was still unsettled in his mind. As a result, with Bingley involved in the case, John felt ten times the pressure to succeed. In the future he must find a way to avoid mixing such personal feelings with his professional life, for the result was not advantageous. Perhaps the distinction could be more easily made if he had more of a personal life to begin with?

* * *

Much to Simmons' satisfaction, the master appeared to want his services more than usual this morning. Mr. Barrow always dressed well, as he considered his appearance an integral part of his occupation, but on this day Simmons could step back and think to himself that his master was quite handsome after all! _He has not dressed for a client, this much is certain_ , "Very good, sir."

"Thank you Simmons. That will be all."

And Simmons knew his master well, for Barrow had determined that this would be the day to speak to Miss Smith. It was foolish to delay any longer. Either she would accept him or she would not. Never one to think overmuch of himself, John did not believe it possible that Arabella was in love with him, but she did seem to find his company agreeable. She even seemed to care for him as a friend. Perhaps, in time she might even _learn_ to love him. In any event, he determined to lay his cards on the table. And if he held the low hand, at least he would know how to play his next.

John entered the shop and looked about. There was no musical voice to greet him. Instead, Mr. Smith looked up from his ledger and gave a hearty welcome. Any minute John expected to see Arabella enter from the back room, but after several minutes of waiting, rendered inconspicuous by leisurely browsing, she still did not come. John grew anxious.

"I see you are quite alone today Mr. Smith."

"Yes I am sir, and not liking it in the least. There was an express come late yesterday evening. Sudden sickness in the family. Arabella left by post quite early this morning, called away to care for her aunt."

It took all John had to conceal his shock and disappointment. He did not feel enough in command to ask specific questions without appearing presumptuous, so limited himself to generalities, "This illness, it is nothing serious I hope?" He feared for her _own_ health.

"I thank you for asking! As it is my eldest sister that's unwell, I suspect it's nothing worse than old age. But she is doing poorly, very poorly sir, and has no one to look after her."

"I'm exceedingly sorry! I know you will miss your daughter," all the while thinking how much _he_ would miss her.

"Very much, indeed! As my wife's health is very indifferent Arabella has been my right hand. Without her I would have had to close shop long ago."

"And I know she will miss her friends," hoping that he counted among that number, and that she would not make any _new_ ones in her absence.

"Yes sir, society makes her cheerful! Oh, before that letter arrived she was in the very best of spirits! It seemed almost to break her heart to have to leave. But she is a good girl and did her duty."

Needing some pretense for having come in, John made a purchase. He did not know or even care what it was, or that he already had two of the same in his possession. Little mattered at that moment. Though not seeing the possibility of it, John wished Mr. Smith a good day and left the shop.

In his capacity as Mr. Blevins, Barrow had grown used to being in control of external factors and was usually able to manipulate events to suit his purpose. But this was out of his hands. It would be no problem for him to find Arabella, wherever she was, and see her there, but John felt strongly that this would not be an honorable thing for him to do. So it seemed that there was nothing left to do but be patient. Having attempted that quality on various occasions with varying degrees of success, John knew that this wait, whatever its length, would be a long one. But there was one thing he _could_ do with no difficulty at all. He checked his watch and slowly made his way to a certain corner.

* * *

Tim arched his brow at the request, but seeing that 'the guv'nor' was most definitely _not_ joking, he quickly agreed to his latest assignment. It would seem that Mr. Timothy Scoggins was to take a turn at law enforcement. In this capacity, he was to prevent those of his ilk from entering Smith's shop ever again.

~~O~~

Author's Note: I know, I know! I hate this part too. Stay with me though! Barrow's next client is... something else.


	8. Chapters 17-19

Chapter 17

The only means John knew of to make time pass tolerably quickly was work, so he immersed himself in it. In this fashion, days turned to weeks, weeks to months, but still Arabella did not return. It was now early March. From Mr. Smith he learned that Arabella's patient showed no improvement, and that none was to be hoped for. John had new appreciation for the importance Miss Smith had come to play in his life. Without her frequent presence, part of him seemed adrift somehow. Her intelligence, wit and sunny disposition were like the wind to his sail, her kind and prudent soul its anchor. Despite his resolve to respect her privacy John had, through careful inquiry, found out where she was. Meryton was but a few hours away, and the temptation was becoming increasingly difficult to check. So anxious to see Arabella, John was beginning to entertain uncharitable thoughts regarding her patient.

Some of his anxiety was recent and very easily traced. One of John's new cases was growing increasingly more complicated, but only because his client, a recent young widow, would have it so. Normally up to any challenge, this one did not bode well at all. John's every instinct warned him of pitfalls ahead.

* * *

The Most Honorable Dowager Countess Armstead was the suitably grieving young woman. Her sudden marriage two years ago to Lord Armstead, the last direct descendant of an ancient noble family, had provided London society with fresh sources of wonder and speculation. That this ancient Earl had finally been convinced to share his wealth and love with someone, even one so young and beautiful as the celebrated Miss Daphne Delacort, was perhaps rendered less amazing when one considered the physical prowess and virility exhibited by this great and noble man. A mere seven months into the nuptials he had been able to produce an heir. Further proof of this man's strong bloodline was the size and strength of his son given the abbreviated nature of its term. The young future earl managed quite well for one born so prematurely, quite well indeed.

And what a shock that so soon after the gift of motherhood, her ladyship's joy should be so tempered by widowhood. The London set, always eager for news on any front, was exceedingly glad for this opportunity to grieve over such a tragic turn of events, tragedy rendered all the more interesting by extreme wealth, youth and beauty. But although she was making a swift recovery, there were still trials ahead. The financial and legal aspects of settling an estate of well over three hundred thousand pounds were daunting to say the least, especially when a second will was brought forward by a distant cousin, an heir presumptive, casting serious doubts over the validity of the young child's birthright. The very legitimacy of her young son was being called into question, that and her rather comfortable annuity from one of the largest estates in the country. Understandably her ladyship resolved to put things to rights. Her continued comfort - and impeccable reputation - demanded it.

And there were personal considerations as well. Being the warm-hearted soul that she was, her ladyship did not intend to be alone for one minute longer than was socially necessary, and for that matter had no objection whatsoever to getting an early start on things. Not surprisingly, there was any number of selfless gentlemen more than willing to lend their assistance during this unsettled period, but her ladyship would have none of them. As she had done for most of her life she would take matters into her own hand, carefully selecting whoever would be best suited to serve her purpose. In her mind her thoughts were turning, much as the card she held was turning over and over in her well-kept delicate hand. The card named a gentleman, a Mr. John Blevins.

Their first meeting had not been promising. Unimpressed by his youth ( _He is my own age, possibly younger!_ ) and less than remarkable countenance, she was disappointed at first and tempted to dismiss him out of hand. She soon changed her mind. Mr. Blevins was found to be not only capable, but extremely clever. One need only look into his eyes to see an active, inquisitive mind. _And how expressive those eyes!_ Their second meeting provided much more to interest. It was soon discovered that Mr. Blevins was fit and trim, and wore his elegant attire exceedingly well... and there was an air about him, a sense of danger perhaps, that she found particularly fascinating… and his voice! Baritone with a rough textured timbre… And while his features lacked the easy harmony of what is commonly called handsome, there was something intriguing about his countenance after all... especially his profile... and especially in the subdued candlelight she took care to provide.

Further meetings tended to solidify this sudden change of opinion. Her ladyship was quite decided, and once she made any decision she did not brook disappointment. Mr. Blevins would do well, extremely well indeed.

* * *

It took no time at all for John to thwart the challenge to the young heir. Proof brought forward by Lord Armstead's personal physician revealed that his patient had been fending off the encroachment of his illness with increasing, and alarming, quantities of opium. Just prior to his demise, Lord Armstead's mental faculties had been so reduced by his medication that no court in the land would allow the second will, as it had been composed by a man with the mental abilities of a small hothouse plant. Her ladyship's grief was lessened considerably by this revelation.

The heir presumptive had no choice but to disappear into obscurity as suddenly as he had made his appearance. It was John's sincere wish that he could fade away in similar fashion, but her ladyship was not yet done. Other matters must be settled, and no one could care for her affairs so capably as Mr. Blevins. One new crisis followed another with alarming frequency. Sorting out his overwhelming feeling of disquiet, John was growing increasingly aware of three very disturbing facts: Arabella was gone far too long, his loneliness was growing more palpable and oppressive with each passing day, Lady Armstead's impeccable curls had suddenly taken on the fragrance of sweet lavender and fresh rain.

But while human, and subject to vulnerability, John was not weak. Based in part on his limited personal exposure to the fair sex, John tended to idealize women. And while true that his profession often afford a less rosy, more prosaic perspective on _all_ human nature, his experience had also taught him that where there was conflict between the sexes, women were, more often than not, the wronged party and received the lion's share of censure. Consequently, John tended to make allowances for deficiencies he found in the fair sex that he would have difficulty tolerating in a man. It would seem though, that Lady Armstead was determined to give him an opportunity to further his education.

Thanks to her, John might yet learn to lose his patience with a woman.

* * *

Chapter 18

Since Mr. Blevins had resolved her most pressing problems so expeditiously, Countess Armstead saw the wisdom of involving him in every aspect of her late husband's estate. Every minor question, small problem and bothersome detail had to have his undivided attention. These were matters that could easily have been addressed by legal counsel, and indeed, the late Earl's small army of lawyers had been retained for this very purpose. They had now been reduced to mere minions, going about their business only after her ladyship had been assured of Mr. Blevins approbation. The only one happy with this arrangement was the lady herself. Indeed, had it not been for the unfortunate, imprecise wording of her contract, ' ...to my complete satisfaction', John would have been gone long ago. Never had he met with a more insatiable client.

Yes, her ladyship was quite determined to be satisfied at some point in time, and John was just as determined to keep his distance. In this battle of wills, John's patience was being sorely tried. This morning would be no exception. He had been summoned to Lady Armstead's own suite of rooms to discuss some trivial matter, when, just as he was contriving some means to extract himself, a footman entered with a card.

Her ladyship read the card then, playfully tapping the footman's sleeve with her fan she admonished him, "Giles, you are such a silly creature! You should know by now to send Miss Endicott in straightaway. Now, go see to some tea."

To John she whispered, "Such formality! I'm afraid my husband insisted on such propriety here that the servants are rather more elegant than I am."

The door was flung open and in breezed Miss Beatrice Endicott, all hurry, bother and flaming red hair. Her ladyship made the introduction then addressed her friend, "Mr. Blevins has been invaluable. He's taken care of all the messy little details - and that one uncomfortably large one - that have hounded me incessantly since my poor husband's demise. I don't know what I would have done without him."

Miss Endicott looked at John closely, "Yes, I am certain..." Something, perhaps recognition, seemed to light her eyes. Then, laughing, she turned to her friend, "But my dear, you have always been so much more capable than you give yourself credit for!"

John stood abruptly, "Excuse me your ladyship, Miss Endicott," nodding to each in turn, "I would not wish to intrude any longer." Grateful for the means to escape, John gathered his hat and gloves and took his leave.

After the door closed behind him, Daphne turned to her friend, "You see how I am treated, Beatrice. Any excuse to leave me! You would think I had plague... but I believe that will change in time."

Miss Endicott laughed, "Well, one thing certainly will _not_ change. You will continue to plague _him_. Do not fret my dear, I have every confidence in your abilities... though I am shocked at your lack of perception."

"Heaven forbid! Correct me! What have I overlooked?"

"Only something quite remarkable Daphne." In conspiratorial tone she continued, "You are slipping, friend, the picture was there before you. Your Mr. Blevins, he looks to be a much younger twin of an acquaintance of ours, The Duke of Charrington. Wouldn't you agree?"

Daphne seldom missed such things and chastised herself for such mental carelessness. Mr. Blevins' other qualities had quite distracted her from this very obvious fact. His resemblance was more than remarkable. The two ladies looked at each other significantly. They were both aware of the rumors, rumors instigated by that man's own son. It had been several years ago at a ball. The Duke's youngest son Edward had, in a moment of drunken rage, railed against his father for siring a bastard and having the temerity to send them off to school together. He was quickly removed by his friends, but too many had overheard him to remove the damage.

Rumors are always interesting whether proven or not. But now, here was more interesting proof in the person of Mr. John Blevins. Edward Thorne was at Eton. A brief interrogation and her ladyship would have her answer. _I will find him out._

* * *

Despite repeated attempts on his part to redirect their discussions, John was finding it increasingly difficult to keep the focus of their meetings on business. Normally quite skilled at steering conversations where he wanted them to go, he found he was dealing with someone just as adept as he was, someone with prodigious curiosity and no shame.

Thus one day, from out of the blue, "I think you are related to an old friend of mine. You must be. The resemblance is uncanny. There is a great family out of _shire. Lord Thorne, the Duke of ..."

"I have no family madam!" after it was said, John realized he had been caught unaware. There had been emotion in his voice.

 _So the rumors are true! And those eyes of his cannot lie. How charming!_

Seemingly contrite at being so rebuffed she begged forgiveness, "Please humor me Mr. Blevins. I feel I am cut off from the world right now. I must indulge in idle conversation from time to time, else I shall go mad." She sat quiet for several minutes altogether, her eyes eloquent in their despondency. And then the wind changed direction once again,

"But you must admit to being a puzzlebox. Everything I know about you is by deduction. For instance, and I'm usually right about these things, I have you pegged as an Eton man. Early education is so important, and I can always tell when it has been properly applied. You did go there, did you not?"

Momentarily taken aback by yet another shift in the conversation, John finally answered, "It is of no importance, your ladyship."

Lady Armstead threw back her head and laughed heartily, "What is of no importance? Early education, or whether or not you were properly schooled?" She was enjoying his obvious discomfiture, "Well, it is of little consequence. They did an excellent job. Whoever! Still, I wonder how you can contrive to be so clever without Eton."

John struggled to control the tone of his voice, "I think _you_ managed quite well without Eton, madam."

Her head went back again, revealing two rows of pearl-like perfection. "Yes, I believe you are right, but I'm afraid there were other schools for my particular brand of education," with a sigh her mood shifted again, she was now pensive, sincere, "And some very hard lessons were taught there... Do not think I have always been like this Mr. Blevins, I was a very different sort of person years ago. You might even have called me a school girl," Then just as quickly the cloud passed, "But enough of this..."

 _It must have been something horrific to leave such a corrupt core within that beautiful shell of hers._ John almost found himself feeling sorry for her, and though repelled by Lady Armstead's manipulative ways, he was at the same time strangely fascinated. John was aware that this interview had served a purpose and that her ladyship had found him out. Indeed, many of his clients had remarked on his unfortunate resemblance to Lord Charrington. Now it remained to be seen what she would do with her information. One thing was certain though, John had no intention of playing Damocles to Lady Armstead's fickle Dionysius.

* * *

Chapter 19

As it so happened, Lady Armstead had no intention of harming her pet. Quite the contrary, for verification of noble blood in Mr. Blevins veins rather added to his increasing list of attractions. Her determination increased accordingly. _Yes,_ she relished the thought, _I_ _ **will**_ _have him_. Though often appearing composed and disinterested, Daphne knew instinctively that Mr. Blevins was a passionate man and that he harbored strong feelings towards her. She also suspected that, in all likelihood, those feelings leaned towards hatred. But her ladyship possessed the artillery to turn any army, and as a rule her marksmanship simply improved with the difficulty of her target. And so the battle continued.

* * *

What particularly irked John was the fact that it was increasingly being expected that he would continue to attend Lady Armstead, even after what had been business suddenly turned social. This was usually signaled by the arrival of some friend or another, more often than not the friend was that boisterous redhead, Miss Beatrice Endicott. Indeed, as these thoughts were running through John's mind he heard the rumblings of chaotic confusion which usually accompanied the arrival of this very person. A few seconds more and the entrance was made.

Miss Endicott was in such a flurry that Giles was pushed to the side and the door thrown open by her own hand. Normally immaculate, the lady's attire and coiffure were askance and her demeanor more breathless than usual. Some matter of monumental importance had supplanted every social grace. She was, in short, bristling with information.

Struggling to catch her breath and speak simultaneously, she finally sputtered, "Fitzie... REFUSED!"

As though anticipating his next move, Lady Armstead's hand rested lightly on John's arm as if to detain him, "Stay, Mr. Blevins.."

It was time to cut his losses. John had attempted on numerous occasions to reason with this woman, but she would not listen. Disgusted with such waste of time, and dangerously close to losing his temper, he spat out, "I _will_ take my leave, madam!"

Leaning over she whispered to John, "You will do nothing of the kind." Then, in normal voice she continued, "Don't let my friend frighten you away, Mr. Blevins. This is merely steam. Miss Endicott is rather like a pot bubbling over. Lift the lid for a short while and she'll settle in nicely." Finally, turning to her friend she addressed her, "Take a deep breath, Beatrice. Do you need salts?"

With one hand resting upon her bosom in an attempt to regulate the violence of her impending exclamation, Miss Endicott finally lost every semblance of decorum, "I don't need any blasted salts you silly thing, hear me out. I SAID, FITZWILLIAM DARCY WAS REFUSED!"

The silence which followed was deafening. There were two remarkable results from Miss Endicott's proclamation; Lady Armstead was rendered momentarily speechless, and John's anxiety to leave was suddenly cut short.

As usual, her ladyship's recovery was swift. "Surely you cannot mean my cousin, His Royal Rudeness, King of Pemberley?" She continued in amazement, "But who refused him? She would need wings to be higher than he is. Who is this angel?"

"Ah, but there's the rub, Daphne. She is a little country girl, a nobody! Turned him down flat. AND my dear, the best part, she boxed his ears soundly and sent him off like a whipped puppy. Don't doubt me dear, my source is excellent..."

For the moment John seemed conveniently forgotten. This would not be the first time John Thomas had ever listened in on idle gossip. It was his business to gather information, regardless of its source. So, feigning disinterest, not one word went unheard.

As it just so happened, Miss Endicott's personal maid had a sister who was most conveniently situated. This young woman, employed as maid at Hunsford Parsonage in Kent, was blessed with the double advantage of curiosity and a sharp ear. Her reward was quite an ear-full one day, for soon after admitting Mr. Darcy to the parsonage to call upon a young lady staying there, she heard the raised pitch of two voices locked in fierce combat. She could not help but overhear. Understandably shocked by what transpired, she would not rest until telling someone. Her relief came in the form of a letter written to her sister in London. In turn this sister, knowing one of the parties concerned to be an acquaintance of her mistress, also could not rest until passing on the information.

The conversation which followed this revelation did not paint a pretty picture of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Lady Armstead was first cousin to Darcy, her mother being sister to Mr. Darcy's father. Growing up, the two had been the very best of friends, but somewhere along the way that had changed. He was now a proud, arrogant man, who would have nothing to do with the world in general and his cousin in particular. John was surprised to hear his former friend described in these terms, and was more inclined to believe that any change in Darcy's treatment of Lady Armstead had more to do with a change in the lady and not the man. But then Miss Endicott went on to relate what transpired after Darcy was refused. It seemed that he had, in no uncertain terms, informed the object of his affection that alliance between their two families would have been degradation. This was bad form indeed, and the tongue lashing he received in return appeared well deserved. John was shocked and, wanting to find some excuse for his friend, hoped to hear something more about the lady, but there was not much to know.

"Her name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a young gentlewoman with absolutely no money, no connections. She lives on the edge of civilization. Someplace in Hertfordshire called Longbourne, near a town called Meryton I believe..."

* * *

John wanted more than anything for this account of Darcy's character to be found false, but was uncertain where to start. It was general knowledge that Darcy sometimes frequented White's with Bingley, and at one time Todd, John's inside connection there, could have been helpful in gathering useful information. But access to that gentleman's club was now closed for John had made a foolish mistake, he had finally lost all patience with William Todd. This would necessitate another approach.

A few months ago John had never heard of Meryton, and until he discovered that Arabella Smith was exiled there would have had no earthly idea where it was. Now he knew exactly where it was. He could see it on the map with his eyes closed, and knew its distance from London to the quarter mile. And now he was hearing of Meryton once more. Someone who lived there thought ill of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Perhaps he should go there... as a favor to a friend.

~~O~~


	9. Chapters 20 & 21

Chapter 20

When alone later that day, Lady Armstead could not help but wonder at Mr. Blevins' sudden complacence. For him to sit patiently while she indulged in gossip seemed somehow out of character. Unless something held his interest. _What could it be?_ Of course Darcy was at Eton as well. But judging from Mr. Blevins appearance, there must be years of difference in age between the two of them. If they knew each other at all it was certainly only a slight acquaintance. Not enough to answer for the length of time Mr. Blevins kept his seat and held his tongue.

Lady Armstead, with too much time at her disposal, had made Mr. Blevins her own particular amusement. And in her opinion, any game worth playing was worth playing well. That being the case, she determined to find yet another piece to her puzzle.

* * *

John wondered how the Countess would take the news. Not that it would make any difference. He was going regardless of her sentiments, and if there was such a thing as luck, perhaps she might cut him loose for breaking contract. In any event, he would deal with the possible consequences when he returned. So it came as something of a surprise when her ladyship 'granted him leave' as she put it, with very little resistance.

"But tell me, what sort of business calls you away so suddenly?" A faint smile rested upon her lips, "I believe that I have some right to know."

"You will have that right, madam, only if my other clients are privy to information regarding _your_ case."

"Touché, Mr. Blevins!" she tossed her head, and indulged in good natured laughter, "Very well said. And I shall try to mind my own business, as long as you promise to return and attend to yours."

Having told that lie, Lady Armstead began making plans to find out where Mr. Blevins was going, even as the door closed behind him.

* * *

John's intention was to set out early the next morning. But, after receiving a note delivered in haste by one of her ladyship's footmen, John found he had to delay his trip by a few hours. The note served to remind him that he possessed certain important legal papers belonging to her ladyship. Having already been carefully examined, these documents now needed to be returned so that her lawyers could act upon them. Apparently there were time constraints involved, so John had no choice but to see Lady Armstead one last time before leaving for Meryton.

Arriving at her town house with no prior appointment, John found that he now shared the same favored position as Miss Endicott. Informed of her ladyship's whereabouts, he was shown in without introduction. As he made his way within her suite of rooms he was startled by the unfamiliar sound of a child crying. John paused in an alcove for several moments without being seen. The young Earl of Creighton, Lord James Alistair Thaddeus Armstead III, had apparently suffered a recent fall, and cradled in his mother's arms was finding comfort there. John wondered at the scene before him. So surprised at seeing her in such a human context as this, John did not realize that he was now being observed.

"You may come in Mr. Blevins, it is only a mighty wound to the knee. If you are mindful of that rug there and do not run, I promise you will not suffer similar injury. Come, let me introduce you."

John entered the room, and with some trepidation made his way to her ladyship's chair. Never having been very child-like or much in the company of small children, John did not quite know what to do with them. But he did remember how disconcerting it could be to have to strain upwards to speak with someone when in all other ways he saw eye to eye, so he knelt down. Taking small, tear moistened fingers within his own, John solemnly shook hands and made acquaintance with the young earl.

 _It seems that my child possesses charms which I do not_ , Daphne wryly observed. Indeed, for the remainder of the short time he was there Mr. Blevins was not only civil, but pleasant, even gracing her with a smile. Daphne was transfixed. Seeing John in this human context, Lady Armstead felt the first stirrings of something she had not felt for some time. Something more tender, and less calculating was now born in her heart.

 _Slightly_ less calculating. For even now, acting on prior instructions, her ladyship's pretty little French maid was working her charms on John's coachman. Poor Stevens, quite overcome by the attention, was more than happy to share the news of his master's impending journey and his whereabouts for the next week. Having already packed her trunks, Daphne only needed direction to be gone.

* * *

Chapter 21

John's plan was to spend about a week in Meryton before heading back to town. What he came here to do would not take much time, but he also intended to accidentally run into an old acquaintance during the course of his stay.

In all likelihood it would be a simple matter to find out about this Miss Bennet in a small town such as Meryton. In places such as these, people were known and matters discussed. Finding those willing to converse on any number of subjects, particularly the comings and goings of their neighbors, was invariably like going to a pond and finding ducks. And so it was. A simple inquiry was made of the innkeeper regarding Meryton and environs. "What," John wanted to know, "is worthy of note in this corner of the world?"

The usual list of superlatives which followed showed this amiable man to be fairly bursting with civic pride. And since Meryton was, of course, the hub of all matters social and economic, the list was lengthy. With Barrow's guidance, the innkeeper's ramblings grew increasingly specific, and before long John knew quite a bit about the Bennet family. The information was generally good. They were a respectable family, consisting of father, mother and five daughters. The two eldest daughters, universally well thought of, were considered to be both beautiful and ladylike, the two youngest handsome and silly, the middle daughter was allowed to be accomplished. With an entail attached to the family estate it would, upon the demise of the current occupant, default to the closest male relation. This information reflected rather well upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet. There were not many under similar circumstances who would scruple to turn down _any_ proposal, yet she had refused Darcy on principle. John's curiosity would not let this rest. Fortunately his source was a gossipy windbag, and happy to oblige.

Additional questioning revealed quite a bit about Darcy, and Bingley as well. Both men had been in the neighborhood almost six months ago, Bingley as resident, Darcy as guest. It appeared that neither man was thought too highly of. Darcy was accused of the worse sort of pride and arrogance. Bingley, though amiable, was considered capricious and unsteady, for he did not marry the eldest Miss Bennet as he ought to have.

Turning to the subject of broken hearts, the innkeeper elaborated at length on a recent and very pretty addition to the neighborhood, a certain Miss Smith, who was doing quite a bit of _that_ sort of thing lately. John made mental note to add another week to his stay. Little did he know that there were soon to be complications from an unexpected quarter.

* * *

"If I didn't know better, madam, I would think you had followed me."

Stepping out from the relative darkness of a tiny shop into bright April sunshine, John almost walked directly into Lady Armstead accompanied by her maid. Initial shock had given way to characteristic frankness.

"You flatter yourself Mr. Blevins. I have an important mission here," Daphne's eyes lighted upon the colorful nosegay of spring flowers that had just come into John's possession.

John's skepticism was readily apparent. If he had seen her ladyship strolling, catlike, down a length of fence it would have been less of a puzzle, and that very picture planted itself rather firmly in John's mind. Seeing that she was being laughed at, Daphne, never one to be overly proud, saw humor enough to join in. She then continued by way of explanation, "I am compelled to satisfy overwhelming curiosity, Mr. Blevins. Did you not overhear my last conversation with Miss Endicott? Ah, never mind! You would be far too discreet to admit to it. In any event," She glanced meaningfully at John's bouquet, "I do not know why _you_ are here, sir, but I set out to see the priceless gem who would refuse my cousin. As fate would have it she has not yet returned from Kent, but I am resolved to learn of her what I can. Are you staying at the inn as well? But of course you are. As if there were a choice!" She leaned in close and whispered, "This truly is the edge of civilization! Come," She took his arm, "Walk with me. Keep the natives at bay."

* * *

As her ladyship desired to turn back to the inn and John had no civil reason to leave her unaccompanied, they headed back towards their lodgings. During the course of their journey, Daphne, a well spring of information, managed to keep Barrow's attention. Clever woman that she was, Lady Armstead thought she knew which topic would keep John from bolting, and so spent the better part of their walk speaking of her cousin.

"I do not know why I take such personal interest in this, except to say that I remember Darcy as a good man and a dear friend. Even now, I think there is hope. If he were to marry well, perhaps. Someone who would take the starch out of him. I rather like the sound of this Miss Bennet. She holds promise. But there is the dream! In reality, his mother's family expects him to marry one of their own. It is quite understood that Darcy will wed his cousin, Anne de Bourgh. Such a cross, sickly thing! If she were any more pale and she'd be useful as a window. And her _mother_! St. George was lax and did not complete his task. There is one dragon left in England, my friend. She lives in Kent."

The name de Bourgh jogged John's memory. He recalled Darcy once saying that Lady Catherine could always influence his actions. Whatever it was that she wanted him to do, he would be certain of doing the opposite. Lady Armstead continued on in confidential tone.

"I have heard that my cousin did not put his best foot forward while in this neighborhood. Not that I'm surprised. He was here with a friend several months ago, a Mr. Bingley, and the two of them did much to wreck the peace and equilibrium of the Bennet household. While here, Darcy slighted the same young woman that he would throw himself at the feet of four months later. Meanwhile, his friend did just the opposite, falling just short of professing undying affection for the eldest Miss Bennet, only to forget her completely upon returning to town. What a pair these two! I have never had the pleasure of meeting him, but it is my understanding that Bingley is Darcy's trained boy. They go everywhere, and do everything together in a way that is wondrous to behold. So I suppose it's only natural that the two of them would inflict themselves on the same family."

Could they really have changed so drastically in six, almost seven years' time? If that were the case John wanted to hear no more of it. Embarrassed for his former friends, John sought to turn the conversation, "I'm amazed at your sagacity, madam. For you to have found all this out on such short notice is to your credit. I believe you have missed your calling."

"Who knows Mr. Blevins, you might have need of my services someday. We would be excellent partners, I think. I am very good at what I do," Lady Armstead met John's glance with unblushing gaze, and held it, then continued on in lighter tone, "The power of a well-placed calling card has never ceased to amaze me. And the right _sort_ of card will always loosen the tongues of those flattered to receive it. I am almost ashamed to admit how simple it was Mr. Blevins..." Her ladyship suddenly ceased talking, for John had suddenly drawn up short.

* * *

"Excuse me madam, I believe I see an acquaintance," With no further ceremony, and no excessive show of civility, John disengaged his arm from her ladyship, and dodged across the busy street, narrowly avoiding several horse drawn conveyances. Indeed, he _had_ seen an acquaintance. And he would rather not be in the company of _this_ lady when noticed by the other.

"John!" Recognizing Barrow at the same time that she saw him almost caught by the wheels of a farmer's wagon, Arabella cried out in alarm.

Her ladyship surveyed the ongoing scene with raised brow. _On a first name basis with someone, are we? And just who is this little maid?_ Suddenly Daphne, normally imperturbable, raised both brows. She knew the young woman! Years ago her brother Thomas Delacort had pointed this one out. Lady Armstead took another look to be certain, but there could be little room for doubt. Yes indeed, four or five years ago this pretty young miss was grist for the mill. There was no change in Daphne's countenance to mark her resolution, but she had come to one unshakable conclusion. _Mr. Blevins can do far better._

~~O~~


	10. Chapters 22 & 23

Author's Note: Thanks for all the favs, follows and reviews!

Chapter 22

"Pray, excuse me sir! I did not mean to take such liberty with your name. I'm afraid that the shock of seeing you and fear for your safety joined forces to separate my mind from my tongue!"

Executing a deep bow while catching his breath, John greeted the lady, "Such a liberty could only give me pleasure, Miss Smith," With a gentle smile upon his face, John said nothing for several seconds altogether, allowing his eyes to feast on the sight before him. Finally he found voice again, "Let me add, madam, it has been far too long since I last had the pleasure of seeing you."

Though extremely pleased to see him in return, Arabella was a little embarrassed by such an outburst, and struggled to regain her composure. Then, remembering the novelty of the situation, she found the presence of mind to ask the obvious, "I am happy to see you as well, Mr. Barrow, but this is such a shock. What is it that brings you here, sir?"

"Personal business, madam. I came to inquire after a friend. But I found that I had _another_ friend in the neighborhood, and made plans to find her out," Looking down, John remembered his bouquet. Within view of all on the public street he presented his gift to Arabella, "Please accept this. It is the least I can do to repay you for making such quick work of my search."

 _What can be done with this man!_ Arabella blushed as she accepted her flowers, but loved him all the more for such unchecked exuberance, "And how have you been spending your time Mr. Barrow? Have your friends been keeping you occupied?"

"I've been at my business, the same as always Miss Smith. And I'm afraid that an overabundance of one has led to a shortage of the other. To make matters worse, what few friends I _do_ have find that they must leave town."

"Oh, now that _is_ sad, sir. But I am pleased to see that you have discovered England's excellent system of roadways, which affords the means to visit those friends who cannot visit _you_."

John was the happy recipient of Arabella's pointed observation. It delighted him to know that she counted him among her friends and that this visit was welcome. His pleasure increased when Arabella expressed the wish to introduce him to her aunt, though John still harbored a secret grudge against that lady for not receiving her heavenly reward on a timelier basis. Happy to do his service as a gentleman, John offered Arabella his arm, and with her hand resting lightly upon it was now prepared to follow her to the ends of the earth or, in this case, the end of a short street of shops. There, in a small apartment above the shop once belonging to her husband, resided the ancient but resilient Mrs. Flora Tillison. Arabella made the introduction.

"Mr. Barrow, I would like for you to meet my aunt, Mrs. Tillison. Aunt, this is Mr. Barrow, an acquaintance from town."

In a loud voice, which served to pinpoint one of the lady's maladies she answered, "Yes, yes, very well."

Arabella smiled fondly, "This lady has listened patiently to all of my worries these past several months, Mr. Barrow. She is the very _best_ kind of confidant."

"Speak louder dear, I cannot hear you."

Her eyes continuing to smile, Arabella glanced archly at John before repeating herself in higher volume for the benefit of the older lady. That Mrs. Tillison still did not hear was evident, but she was pleased with the attention nonetheless. John marveled that Arabella had somehow managed to keep her gentle humor during this trying time, and observed the scene before him with pleasure. A sudden surge of emotion left him feeling almost giddy, reaffirming what he already knew. Oh y _es, I love this woman!_

Arabella glanced over and saw John looking flushed and foolish. What a thrill to know that she alone was the cause of it! Momentary happiness was drawn up short though, as she acknowledged the obstacles that still stood between them. Truth must be revealed before they could reach an understanding. He had yet to show trust in her, enough trust to tell her about himself. And her truth might yet drive him away. Dare she attempt a candid discussion with him now?

John saw the change on Arabella's face. Thinking that she might be displeased at such an overt show of affection, he had to wonder if it was the display, or the source of it that disturbed her the most. But even if it might pain him, he must have his answer before he left this place. Not wholly reliant on Mrs. Tillison's deafness (as she had shown him no particular favor in the past) John was hesitant about broaching the subject while seated next to that lady's bed. But he would soon be provided with an opening. Observing that her aunt's eyes had grown heavy with her efforts to keep company, Arabella suggested they continue their conversation in the parlor. Once they were settled, she ventured to be brave.

"Mr. Barrow, I have often wondered about your mysterious occupation, but you've always been so agile as to sidestep the issue whenever I brought it up. Before I left town I heard rumors... but would wish to hear it from you. Pray tell me, what exactly do you do for a living, sir?"

John's face was down, and he appeared to be quite concerned with an old crack on a nearby table, his finger diligently tracing its outline. But there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I would advise you to attend only to those rumors which place me in the best possible light. This much I can say, I do not work _against_ the law," His inspection of the crevice complete, John met Arabella's eye and he said with perfect gravity, "Besides, my telling you would of necessity place constraints on you Miss Smith."

"Sir?"

"If I tell you, you will have to marry me."

As Arabella blushed and quickly put her head down, John could not help but notice how very pretty she was with a bloom to her cheeks. If he had been more observant, he would have seen that she was flushed and angry. Arabella had not yet come to fully understand John. He had hoped to unburden his heart and secure her hand in one deft maneuver, and was fervently hoping that curiosity would get the better of her. To Arabella, this was yet another sidestep, and she was not pleased. _How can I unburden my heart to him if he will not trust me? Is it possible he is playing me for a fool?_ John would have seen Arabella's disapprobation first hand had not Mrs. Tillison called from her room, signaling her need for immediate and sustained attention. Arabella suggested that John take his leave.

* * *

Chapter 23

Completely dissatisfied with the outcome of yesterday's interview, John came to call on Miss Smith early the next day. In retrospect, by attempting to be clever, perhaps he had only succeeded in being too flippant, too cavalier. He had apparently not come to the point. On the other hand, maybe she understood his meaning all too well, and had now been put in the position of having to refuse him. _Why can I not just come out and ask her?_ John felt that a compass of some sort would be useful to guide him through such an uncharted land.

As he drew near, John was surprised to see that he would not be Arabella's first visitor, and wondered who it was that had come calling at such an early hour. Even from a distance Barrow knew that the lady could not be a neighbor, as such a degree of London fashion was normally not seen in this place. Then recognition dawned. Barrow was almost certain that he knew the figure beating a swift retreat from Arabella's door. But what possible reason could she have for calling there?

* * *

"Please, leave me sir!"

The door was opened but a crack, even so, John could see that Arabella was distraught. There had been an unsuccessful attempt to conceal recent tears, and her voice trembled with emotion.

"Good Lord! What has happened, Miss Smith?" John spoke from his heart. Then, realizing that he was selfishly giving way to his feelings when he could possibly be of use to her, he continued, "Please, whatever it is, let me assist you."

"You have done quite enough! I will let you do no more. Make no attempt to see me here again sir. If you mean me no harm, you must speak with my father when I return to town. Till then, you can have nothing more to say to me!"

John now understood that _he_ somehow played a role in Arabella's distress, "Miss Smith, if something has been said... I am not entirely certain of my accuser, and am completely ignorant of the accusation. I entreat you, give me the chance to defend myself!"

Arabella, who could not be unmoved, wept fresh tears, "Please sir, this is how it must be. I beg you to leave me.." With a heavy heart she closed the door. Arabella's past had caught up with her.

* * *

Heartbroken, angry and confused, there was but one thing John knew with certainty. **_She_** _did this!_ Upon arriving back at the inn, he found that the Countess had left for town, with all due haste, within the past half hour. On one hand he was grateful for the distance between them, as he was not now master of his emotions. On the other hand, he knew that he would close that distance on the morrow. Then there would be the devil to pay.

That night, when sleep finally came John dreamt of Arabella. After so many months of loving her with so little hope of return she had finally agreed to be his. Gathering her into his arms they were locked in embrace, as though two shipwrecked souls that would drown but for holding on to one another.

That next morning, the dawn was met by a somber gray mist, and the distance between Meryton and London saw early closure.

~~O~~

Author's Note: Arrgh, those two! They just can't catch a break, can they? So frustrating! Next up, what I fondly refer to as THE chapter. I'll post it in the next day or so.


	11. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"Where is she?"

After giving his answer, Giles wisely stepped aside before he could be thrown. The door to her ladyship's sitting room was flung open with such force that a large vase was sent tumbling, its shards littering the floor. Striding slowly into the room, John fixed Lady Armstead in his sights. She met his challenge without flinching.

"What did you say to her?" John's question met with no answer. Her silence confirmed what he already knew, and served as additional fuel for his fury.

"You have **_no_** right to my personal life!

"She is not for you."

"You common wench."

"I have your interests at heart when you do not!"

"How **_dare_** you!"

"You can ill afford to marry with no consideration to wealth. Don't be a fool! You have an excellent income, but no security. What if something were to happen? Suppose you were injured, or worse? Where would that leave your wife? Your children? You have not thought this out!"

John had never been so angry with her as he was now. Stepping closer, he was careful to stay out of striking distance. His words were measured carefully, but their tone revealed his emotion, "Let me make this plain to you. My life is **_not_** and will **_never be_** your concern."

Her emotion matched his own, "You **_are_** my concern. I have **_made_** you my concern!" Then, after quick pause, "Marry me."

What had been unflinching anger gave way to shock. With nothing to warn him of this unexpected change of direction, he had to shake his head to clear it. Stunned, John could only give expression to frank honesty, "I do not love you." Her ability to manipulate his emotions angered him once more, "And **_you_** , madam, are not capable of such a thing."

Her ladyship would not be dissuaded, and knew instinctively that direct reference to Arabella would not help win her cause, "Take a mistress if you must."

Just when it seemed he would most likely explode in anger, John grew strangely calm, his eyes lost their focus, "My mother..." He stopped for a moment, wondering at his candor. His voice was unsteady as he continued, "My mother was a mistress. It did not go well with her. I will take **_no_** mistress, madam!"

"You would have no need of one, I promise you," Her voice was breathless, soft, pleading.

John was mesmerized by the sound of it. Never before had he heard such open, honest entreaty. And to hear it from this unlikely source! Searching Daphne's eyes, he tried in vain to read her motives, to find meaning behind such apparent disparity.

Feeling the intensity of his gaze and understanding his unspoken question, Daphne stepped slowly forward, reached out her hand and caressed his cheek. John drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes. The scent of lavender filled the air.

"I _do_ love you, John," she murmured, "There is no other reason. All the others, they smile and nod when I say two and two are five. You only speak truth to me," Lady Armstead closed all distance between them. Silk touched wool. Each shuddering breath brought them closer still. Her lips, a mere inclination away, were now his for the taking. Daphne continued to whisper, though John no longer knew what she was saying. Her words caressed his neck, her exhalations were languid summer sighs. The effect was heady, intoxicating, and John felt himself starting to fall.

Like most young men his age Barrow was no cloistered innocent, but his past experiences had been relatively few and by no means completely satisfying. Though savoring the act, the profound give and take of physical pleasure, he would invariably be left feeling like a starving man who goes to bed dreaming of a feast, and is all the worse for waking up in the morning. Concluding that he was not well suited for unalloyed passion, for fire untempered by gentler emotion, John had promised himself to forgo such futility. Until he took a wife.

And now, here was this beautiful woman who had all the world to give and was begging to give it freely. She who had so much on her side - independent wealth conjoined to a staggering annuity, an ancient family name and valuable social connections - was willing to share with someone who had little to give in return. He would certainly not have his love to offer her. Could he _ever_ love her? Would it really matter in the end?

 _You fool!_ On impulse he thought, _You have loved in vain and are promised to no one!_ The physical man sought release and presented his reasoning. _Why not take what is offered?_ As John pondered this question he raised his eyes. Directly across from him was a mirror. His reflection showed desire plainly written, as well as doubt. And something else. Startled by what it was, John felt shame and quickly turned away.

It was as if his father's face was looking back at him.

Lady Armstead saw change, saw weakness strengthen into firm resolve and knew that she had lost. Her fingers traced the outline of his cheek one last time as she brought her hand back down to her side. What a prize he might have been, this man who would not be bought. Without parting word or glance, John turned and walked away. As Daphne listened to his receding footfall and quick decent down the main staircase, she was aware that whatever tender emotion had been newly born in her heart was now lying trampled in the dust. And, she must acknowledge, there was no one but herself to blame.

Her initial disappointment was checked, however, as she reminded herself just how overrated were love and marital felicity.

~~O~~

Author's Note: Yep, Lady Armstead just took that boy to school. She underestimated him though. Didn't think he'd pass.

I know I'm in the minority here, but I like Countess Armstead very much. She was a blast to write! She's down to earth and loves taking down anyone who thinks too highly of themselves. She's smart, witty, resourceful, and will always, always land on her feet. She and Arabella have both taken some knocks in life. However, where Arabella has retained her integrity, dignity and grace, Daphne at some point said 'the heck with it', and willingly lost her better self. I almost feel sorry for her, as did John early on in their acquaintance. At a different time or under different circumstances, she and John might have made a very good match, personally - oh, those sparks! - and perhaps even professionally. Had that happened though, this would have been a very different kind of story, and John, a very different kind of man. So even though I like Daphne I'm happy with how this played out, because I like John just the way he is. Even though I want to shake him sometimes.

Barrow is now at a crossroads. Please stay with me, as we see where his journey takes him next.


	12. Chapter 25

Authors Note: Lola, thanks for your very kind review! In answer to your question Lady A's mother and Darcy's father were siblings. And to Deanna27, not to worry. Lady A is an acquired taste. ;-)

So many wonderful reviews, and lots of favs and follows. Thanks everyone!

Chapter 25

The next day, John received a bank draft from Lady Armstead. Its total was more than twice what his fee would have been. There was initial conflict. The gentleman demanded that he return what was so obviously not his own. The businessman argued that in terms of aggravation and heartache, he had earned every penny. The man warned that he was best advised to avoid another encounter with the lady, for if she persisted, John doubted he possessed the strength to walk away again. Making quick work of his moral dilemma, Barrow deposited the full amount. He was now six hundred pounds richer, immeasurably wiser, and more acutely aware of his loneliness than ever before.

Attempting to repair bridges that he knew not how were damaged, John wrote several times to Arabella. His letters went unanswered. And perhaps this was just punishment, for his recent actions seemed to prove that his heart had not been steady. Though not giving way to the temptation, there must have been some element there to tempt him in the first place.

And what was it that Arabella would not tell him?

Barrow felt the need for change. For the first time since his independence, John had to admit that he was profoundly unhappy and that something must be done. In the past, there had always been his profession to balance the scale, for if nothing else, John could be happy doing his job. Now, he no longer felt even that satisfaction. A feeling of restlessness was overtaking him, making it difficult to concentrate. He was losing his edge. Searching for an answer, he was beginning to believe that his means of living, once a safe haven, might in fact be the present _cause_ of his unhappiness. If business continued apace, financial independence would doubtless be his in fewer than twenty years. But at what cost? For every dilemma of a professional nature he could rely upon his former mentor, but there was no one he could pour out his heart to. Or was there?

When he first retired, Sir John Murdock had extended an open invitation for Barrow to visit his country estate at any time, and a warm welcome always awaited him when he came. With no pressing business at hand, John thought that this might be an excellent time to pay his mentor a visit.

* * *

The older man was happy for the company. Seated over tea he took stock of the young man as he always did, and his assessment was not good. Care worn and haggard, Barrow looked as though he bore the weight of several men. In short, he looked very much like a certain young Lord Thorne once did twenty-two years ago. As a result of being so determinedly unwilling to admit to any curiosity about his father, John knew very little about him. He would have no way of knowing just how alike they were in many ways.

Sir John on the other hand, _did_ know, and his heart went out to him, "I see that we're in need of a talk."

Barrow often wondered how Sir John seemed able to catch his every mood. Seated comfortably in the drawing room, he loosened his cravat, glanced down at his now lukewarm tea, and wondered how best to broach the topic. He did not want to appear ungrateful.

"I am considering a change sir. As I've already received excellent training - again all thanks to you – I believe that I might just pursue the law after all. I've saved up enough to allow for the transition, and will attempt to get called to the bar."

Sir John's brow arched. _Now this I did_ _ **not**_ _expect. What's the cause?_ Knowing full well that Barrow would prefer a minute at the gallows to years of playing toady for some musty gaggle of ancient barristers, he suspected that this was not the real reason for John's visit, and that the young man was taking an around about way to get to the point. Sir John decided to keep silent. _It will come out soon enough._

As though in confirmation of this, Barrow continued after a lengthy cessation, "I would like to ask you a personal question sir. You'll tell me if I'm out of line." Aa brief pause ensued as John looked earnestly at his mentor, "Was it our profession that prevented you from ever marrying?"

 ** _Ha!_** _So now we get to the heart of the matter. I_ _ **knew**_ _it would come down to this._ The older man snorted in mild derision, "Profession? Hardly!" One look in John's direction showed the younger man hanging on his every word. He must not make light.

Sir John pondered for a short while before continuing, "No John, far from it. In at least one instance, when I had been granted the attentions of a very worthy lady, I had only my stupidity to blame. I never took the time to court her properly and she eventually lost patience with me. Married a baronet I believe, the better for her. In retrospect, I'm not absolutely certain that my nature lends itself to such a close bond. You, on the other hand... I think you will do better to marry. I doubt that you need to hear this from me, but you have no constraints. You're free to marry where you wish." Sir John looked at Barrow closely, "I'm rather surprised that you haven't done something about your Miss Smith by now."

This was encouragement enough. The man who had by turns served as guardian, mentor and father, would now act as friend. Moving his chair closer to his companion and the warmth of the fire, John spent the next two hours condensing his activities of the past five months.

* * *

"So, you tangled with Lady Armstead did you? From what I understand she wields a mighty sword. Don't despair John, you've proven your mettle. As for the other lady... I believe that she has every reason to be cautious."

Barrow's initial response was shock, his eyes were questioning. Sir John's brow raised a notch as he continued, "So, you do **_not_** know. What do you want, idle gossip, or what I firmly believe to be the truth?" _Yes lad, I made it a point to know._

"Nothing from _you_ sir! I think I would _like_ to hear it from the lady!"

"So then, I take it that you've been entirely candid regarding _your_ situation, and given Miss Smith every occasion to speak freely to you?" Sir John found himself losing patience with his friend, "Your opportunities were there John, and yet you squandered them! A lady's stakes are always higher. You've made this difficult for her!"

It took but an instant to pass from anger to acknowledgment. _He's right. I've been a fool. Worse yet, a selfish one._ John considered how much of his unhappiness had been brought on by himself. And worse, how much unhappiness he might possibly have given to the woman he loved.

Seeing that the truth weighed heavily on the young man, and that his point had been made, Sir John had but one further hint to give, "She's a good woman. Should another opportunity present itself I suggest that you seize it." He now spoke in lighter tones, "This is a taxing enterprise John, and I have exhausted my meager store of advice on the subject. You can at least derive comfort from the fact that you're certainly not alone. Most men will, at some point, play the ass when it comes to a woman. As such," Sir John paused in advance of his wit, "all we can do is bray... and hope for the best," he was rewarded by the sight of a smile, albeit a reluctant one, on the face of his companion.

"That was very bad sir."

The older man chuckled in agreement, "Yes it was! Men have been shot for less, I'm certain of it. But back to the point. You are young, John. Youth is impatient, and patience has never come naturally to you as it is. Make no change as yet. Wait it out. Find something to keep you occupied. Speaking of impatience, I hear that you lost William Todd."

John slowly combed slender fingers through his hair, a sure sign that this line of conversation generated marked embarrassment.

"I understand that you spoke rather frankly of his noble lineage. Something about his father being 'the king of all costermongers', eh?" An uneasy smile from the young man generated another mild rebuke from the older one, "Come lad, there was no need to humiliate the man in public as you did."

Honestly contrite, John let out a sigh, "It was inexcusable. Nothing to blame but ill temper. I was ashamed of my actions the moment the words were out of my mouth, but it was too late to call them back," Another hint of a smile, "But I must admit sir, that just prior to shame it felt marvelous indeed."

Sir John laughed heartily, "Yes, I can imagine! The man is insufferable. Higher than His Royal Highness. Believe me, I was occasionally tempted to do the same."

"I've since had ample opportunity for regret though. It will be some time before I have an inside man at White's again."

"Perhaps. I have another contact, better than Todd. But I have no intention of throwing him to the wolf. What is it that you need to know?"

John's smile, though still small, was not forced this time, "To be honest, I'm interested in rumor and idle gossip. And in keeping myself occupied." John went on to detail his growing curiosity about his old friends Charles Bingley and Fitzwilliam Darcy. He was anxious to know what course their lives had taken and what sort of men they had become. Shortly after this, a footman came in to announce supper and the two friends went in to dine.

~~O~~


	13. Chapters 26 & 27

Chapter 26

After a short stay of ten days, Barrow returned to town restored and refreshed. Although very much a city man, he had new found appreciation for the healing effects of country life, and the obvious benefits of good companionship and sound advice. He felt a greater sense of optimism than he'd had in quite some time and even looked forward to sorting through the numerous business matters that had piled up for 'Mr. Blevins' in his absence. The stack of unopened mail on his desk was evidence that his services were needed, and he attacked the pile with renewed interest. One packet caught his notice based solely on its point of origination. It would appear that someone from the north, Liverpool to be exact, wanted his assistance. It wasn't often that one from so far away had cause to make a request of him. John broke the seal. It was from no one he'd ever heard of, a Mr. King. He quickly applied himself to its contents.

 _Dear Sir,_

 _I have the guardianship of my niece who, upon the death of her father came into possession of a modest fortune. Suffice it to say that a young woman who has suddenly gone from having nothing, to having an independence of ten thousand pounds, will find the world fraught with unknown dangers. So it was with my niece._

 _Until last month, Miss King resided with my sister in a southern county. When her change in fortune became general knowledge, she chanced to gain the exclusive attention of an amorous, and eager, young man. This man, an officer stationed with a regiment quartered nearby, fashioned himself a gentleman with honest claims for my niece's affections, yet I remain true to my instincts which tell me that he is nothing more than a common fortune hunter. Due to his regiment's impending relocation to Brighton, he redoubled his efforts to pursue her. I had the good fortune to become privy to his activities before he could put any possible plan into action. My niece was removed from that country and is now staying with me._

 _My concern is that I have not improved her situation. As an unmarried man old enough to be her father, I am afraid that I make a rather undesirable companion for a young lady of her age. I am rendered even more unsuitable by my frequent absence, as I often have the misfortune to be away from home on business. All things considered, my present schedule provides frequent and ample opportunity for anyone seeking to take advantage of my young charge again. I saw the need to find someone who would look after her in my absence, and recently placed an advertisement for a lady's companion._

 _A letter arrived just yesterday from a woman who would appear to be all that I could ask for. Her name is Mrs. Younge, a widow from London. She has several references and everything appears to be order, but I am still not entirely satisfied. My request is simple. I want her thoroughly checked out. As a skeptical man I cannot help but wonder at someone so mature and so settled being willing to come such a distance for so little. The position does not pay overmuch, and its duration is uncertain. If I was able, I would come to check on her myself, but I cannot._

 _You were particularly recommended to me by a trusted associate, who assured me of your ability to perform this service. I was also given a general idea of what your fee might be, and am both able and willing to pay your price. By availing myself of your assistance, perhaps I am using a barouche when a wagon would serve the purpose, but my feeling is that it is wiser to err on the side of caution..._

Barrow read no further. As he was feeling rather more like a barouche these days than the broken down wagon of a fortnight ago this letter caught his fancy. He placed it in his pile of correspondence requiring immediate attention.

* * *

The very next day John responded to Mr. King's letter. Anxious for resolution, this gentleman had enclosed two drafts of a partially executed contract, which John examined closely and found to be sound. He added his signature to both, filed one and returned the other by express to Liverpool. Mundane business details out of the way, Barrow now set off in search of Mrs. Younge. But as is often the case in detection, what might initially seem to be a simple matter can suddenly became complicated. Either Mr. King had transcribed Mrs. Younge's direction incorrectly, or that settled and mature lady's companion was currently residing at the Bull and Crown on Edward Street.

John checked the letter to see if he could possibly have misread the direction. No, this was it. The Bull and Crown, a tavern catering to the down at heel element of a rather questionable part of town, would not seem to be the ideal residence for a would-be lady's companion. But, having seen far stranger things before, Barrow stopped at a discreet distance to take note. He had been careful to dress the part. Knowing Mrs. Younge's address would be taking him down somewhere near the docks (this fact alone was curious), it would be wise to fit in. Anything else would draw undue attention, impeding his ability to do his job, and possibly make him a mark for footpads in search of easy prey.

During the course of a half hour's observation, John noticed the passage of a small errand boy, a young lad of not more than six or seven years, darting in and out of the pub on a frequent basis. The boy would sometimes carry a pot or two of ale or the occasional bottle of spirits for delivery, but his most pressing duties seemed to carry him virtually empty handed in one particular direction, further down Edward Street. Curious about what might be found there, John set off to follow him. Not able to keep pace with such swift prey without drawing attention to himself, Barrow followed him over the course of two circuits. The boy's second journey led John to what appeared to be a boarding house, one that had seen better times. A middle aged woman with a decided air of authority answered the door. She took a slip of paper from the boy, who then turned and ran back towards the tavern.

As he passed by, John stopped his progress, "You there! Is Mrs. Younge at home?"

"Who wants ta' know?" With dirty face upturned, the young boy was taking John's measure.

John smiled inwardly at so much audacity in so small a package, " _I_ do, you little ruffian!"

The boy pointed down the street to the house he'd just left, "She was just at the door there. Are ye' blind?" Any impatience at being accosted by this stranger was apparently dispelled as John pressed a tuppence into his hand. The boy then turned, and with redoubled speed continued on his rounds.

From what he had observed so far, John could see that his client had valid cause for concern. With curiosity peaked, John soon left his post to prepare a course of action. As he passed the tavern he ventured a surreptitious glance, but could see nothing. At the same time, within the pub a small hand tugged at a sleeve and pointed a finger, and a broad shouldered, muscular young man took note.

* * *

The young man peering out of the tavern's soot smeared window tracked John Barrow's progress until he turned a corner. It was this man's business to take note of such things, for too much could be lost through carelessness. One thing he did not like was to lose, especially where money was concerned. Strictly speaking, he was employed by the Bull and Crown, one of several hired to keep order in this rough and tumble place, but his ties to a certain boarding house and the lady running it were crucial to all involved. His name was Albert Younge.

Bert could remember a time when his mother's surname changed with great regularity, as she adopted the name of whoever she was with at the time. She'd had Younge the longest, though that man was long gone. It was as good a name as any other, so Bert took it as well. But his indifference towards his paternity was more than compensated for by his diligent concern for his mother. He now looked down at his small informant in such a way as to strike fear in most hearts.

"Let someone stop ye' again, ye' little rakehell, and I'll skin ye' alive."

But this small heart held no fear, "Are ye' daft? Ye have ta' catch me first!" And in a flash he was off again, bearing yet another communication for the lady of the house.

Chapter 27

 _You're determined to make this interesting, aren't you?_ Even the most routine case could be made more convoluted, and gratifying, by digging just beneath the surface...

If Barrow knew one thing about himself it was his desire to fill in all the missing pieces, even when only half were called for. At some point he must draw the line between business and his own natural curiosity, but so far he had not crossed that line. He client deserved proof. Fully aware of this weakness John set strict limits, allowing himself a maximum of two days in which to wrap things up for his client. Within that allotted time, it was his intention to find out exactly what this Mrs. Younge was up to, possibly uncovering her obvious ties to the Bull and Crown in the process. But first, John must arrange for someone to go with him on his next venture into that rough part of town, for based purely on instinct he would not go back alone.

Barrow had already decided who this would be. Willie Barton would be the man. Willie, who had at one time lived near and worked the docks, would know his way around. This choice was made even more ideal by his availability, for as one of John's footmen they were together under the same roof. However, when it came down to it there would always be one major reservation, Willie's grandmother the cook.

One year ago, Willie had been hired at the specific request of his grandmother, who had it in mind that her grandson must be saved from what promised to be a hard, and quite likely short, life. She had hoped for his improvement in a life of service. Barrow was particularly fond of cook, so as soon as a position came vacant he was more than happy to oblige her.

When Willie first came to work as a lad of seventeen it was on a trial basis, but his trial had ended in no time. Within a few short weeks he had proven himself to be not only hardworking and mature for his years, but intelligent, perceptive, discreet. In addition, John had only once before met with such a naturally pleasant man. Though in no way naive, Willie Barton had the same sunny disposition and unfailing sense of optimism that served to remind Barrow of Charles Bingley. John liked him prodigiously, and occasionally even considered showing him the business. Even now he would help out from time to time. But John rather suspected that cook would not look kindly on any advancement that might place her grandson in harm's way again; and John would rather not incur cook's displeasure.

There was also the matter of inexperience. Though a quick study Willie still had much to learn, and John sometimes wondered if using such a novice for an assistant might one day prove disastrous. Still, this would be a simple enough case. And besides, how else would Willie ever gain the needed experience? These arguments, added to the simple fact that John enjoyed the young man's company, made him stay his choice. After speaking with Willie at length regarding what would be required, plans were made to start out tomorrow after an early breakfast. That taken care of, John felt free to attend to other matters.

When he first returned home, Barrow found that Sir John had been punctual in his attentions. A letter awaited him, and a substantial one at that. Apparently Sir John's contact had quite a bit to say on the subject of Barrow's former friends. Knowing that the letter's contents would satisfy curiosity of a personal nature John set it aside, wishing to resolve matters pertaining to business before allowing time for other interests. And now that time had come.

Preferring the shadows of a darkened study, and often finding enlightenment there, John snuffed all candles save those necessary for perusal. Now free from all distractions, John broke the seal in haste, and applied himself to the contents of his letter. It came as a relief to him that his old friends were universally well thought of at White's, by fellow members as well as staff; Bingley was more liked, and Darcy more respected. They were considered unimpeachable, men of character and substance. And of consistency - although they did seem somewhat less predictable of late. A change in both men had been observed. Bingley's change was fairly recent and seemed somehow connected to a short lived residence in Hertfordshire. He'd taken a house there last autumn, and Darcy had gone along to keep him company. They were both said to be much more quiet and less lively since their return. This change, far more easily observed in Bingley than Darcy, was duly noted by close friends and was the frequent subject of curious speculation. Since Bingley often spoke of a certain young lady in glowing terms, a Miss Bennet to be exact, it was easy enough to suppose that he had lost his heart there, after all, Bingley was well known for losing that part of his anatomy on a fairly regular basis. But where a few days or weeks had been enough for him to reclaim it in the past, months would not suffice to work a cure in this instance.

As Darcy was by nature more guarded than his friend, his change was an even greater perplexity and of longer duration. He was a changed man since last summer took him to Ramsgate, a spur of the moment excursion he'd only mentioned in passing. His temper, never as easy as his friend, had not been the same since. The last five months or so saw him going from bad to worse. And a recent trip to visit his aunt in Kent, an occurrence which would usually afford his closest friends a humorous recounting of events, seemed to leave him almost morose. It could only be supposed that he was preparing to meet with his family's wishes and announce an engagement to his cousin Anne de Bourgh. Since marriage with that young lady would inevitably mean an even closer kinship with the mother, Darcy had their silent sympathy. That prospect, his friends readily acknowledged, was enough to leave any man out of sorts.

Barrow leaned back in his chair as he gave the letter further consideration. Though far from wishing to give credence to anything said by _her_ , this missive had, in many ways, served to corroborate events as conveyed by Lady Armstead. His former friends, by every account that _he_ considered credible, were honorable gentleman. They were in love with two very worthy young ladies who had everything to gain by a connection with them, and yet things had gone awry. There seemed to be disappointment, at least on the side of the gentlemen. John could make no sense of it. He supposed that perhaps some misunderstanding must separate them and, considering his recent misunderstanding with Miss Smith, he could certainly empathize. But John doubted that his intervention could be of any use to his friends. He would doubtless end up bungling things for them as badly as he'd done for himself! _No_ , John smiled his wry amusement, _I believe I'll steer clear of the matchmaking business._

But what an extraordinary coincidence! Years, what seemed almost a lifetime, had passed without crossing paths at all, and now two recent cases had thrown him into his old friends' lives once more. John Barrow was not a man to believe in fate, but if he was at all inclined in that direction, these two unlikely events would certainly push him over the edge. With a sigh, Barrow put away the letter, blew out his candle, and retired to bed. There, he continued to work things over in his mind until sleep finally caught him unawares.

Little did he know that this current case involving Mrs. Younge would serve him with yet another fateful reminder.

~~O~~


	14. Chapters 28 & 29

Author's Note: Sorry this is so late. Getting settled in a new house, along with some other less fun matters, have sapped time and energy.

I also want to thank the guest reviewer who took the time to explain the reason why Darcy and Bingley (and by extension John) would not have studied together at Eton. I will add that I did some (minimal) digging to see if the age span of students during the Regency period mirrored that of modern times (13-18) and didn't find much beyond an unreferenced mention of students as young as 10 being flogged. So I took that ball and ran with it, making John and Charles lads of eight when starting at Eton (even though at that age they would likely still be learning at home), my goal being to allow enough time to establish a strong bond with Darcy during their overlapping time there. So, that part is probably artistic license as well!

Chapter 28

The small front room of the run down boarding house provided them with ample opportunity for observation, while playing upon an old rivalry is what provided them with the room. Willie, with accent completely devoid of Etonian influence, was allowed to do the talking and was convincing in his role.

'My friend and me, we'll be lookin' for work and need a room for a few days, till either we get the work or the money runs out." A crown slid across the table as proof that such a thing existed. "We went to the house across the way, but didna' care much for that lady. That one's got a bee up 'er bonnet, she does."

Rendered sociable by the combination of money and the unflattering reference to her rival, the matronly woman clucked in agreement, "Two fine young lads, such as yourselves have no _need_ to be stayin' in that place. You done the right thing comin' 'ere," her voice lowered to an almost whisper, and she leaned towards them in a conspiratory manner, "She _calls_ that place a boardin' 'ouse, but you wouldna' believe the goin's on over there. It's shameful, is what it is!"

"Ach! That's too bad!" Willie's hand reached to retrieve his coin. "I need me sleep, miss. I was goin' ta' ask for a front room as I need the sun to wake early, but if we're in for a ruckus out that way, then maybe I need to go elsewhere?"

"Oh, no, no, no! Not a ruckus, lad! Her dirt's done all quiet and secret like. You'll get a good night's sleep, you will!"

Both John and Willie knew that a good night's sleep was the furthest thing from their minds, but they looked at each other as though taking this into consideration. Finally, John nodded tersely, and Willie once again released his crown, "All right, miss. We'll be takin' one of your front rooms then."

"Very good lads! You'll be glad you did," Looking at John for a moment, the woman added, "Your friend 'ere don't talk much, does 'e?"

"No miss, he's a mute."

"Oh, what a shame!" Making the common assumption that muteness meant deafness and that speaking louder would solve the problem, the woman addressed John with volcanic pitch, "Well don't you worry about a thing, lad! My name's Mrs. Parker, and I'll be takin' good care of ya', I will! Put some meat on them bones of yours!" To emphasize her determination she patted John's back with motherly enthusiasm, then led the two of them to their room.

Suppressed mirth had to wait till that good woman took her leave again.

* * *

By taking turns, the two were able to keep watch and catch a few hours of fitful sleep. So far they had to acknowledge that their landlady had spoken the truth. Mrs. Younge's house could just as well have been a monastery as quiet as it was, but it soon became apparent that something very un-monastic was going on there.

A tap on the shoulder was all that Barrow needed to come fully awake. Following the tilt of Willie's head John went to the window and peered down at the street below. A fantastic sight awaited him. It was a parade of sorts, a bizarre parade. Transposed against a solemn backdrop of acrid blue-gray sky and jumbled buildings rendered even more decrepit by darkness, five gaily plumed young women made their way from the boarding house down towards the docks. For all of their tawdry finery there was a weariness about them, as though they had made this trip countless times before. Mist rolling up from the river obscured their feet, giving the ethereal impression that they were walking on clouds. But John rightly suspected that no such heavenly destination awaited them.

* * *

"They're bound for the ships sir," Willie's observation was on the mark, and John nodded in acquiescence.

There were no further attempts at sleep that night, as John and Willie pondered over what they had seen. It would appear that their Mrs. Younge was an astute business woman with a practical talent for diversification. In addition to more conventional usage her boarding house did double duty, providing lodging for other less diversified business women. Women whose business took them down to the docks where they had but one thing in the world to sell.

"I'll wager that there's even more going on over there than we know at present. I wonder how much our Mrs. Parker knows?" John mused out loud.

"I would hazard a guess sir that she knows far more than we do."

"No sense in her keeping it to herself then, is there?"

Willie had seen a certain light in Barrow's eye, and knew that his master's curiosity was getting the better of him, and his growing excitement was contagious. "Absolutely not, sir. And, if you don't mind my sayin' it, I think you'll have no problem gettin' it out of that one."

John replied by way of raised brow.

"It's as plain as day sir," Willie's mock innocent smile nearly split his face in two, "She's sweet on you, she is."

As though in confirmation of this, there came a knock at the door. The subject of their discourse entered with a tray laden down with ample sustenance for breakfast. Willie's brow arched significantly upon noticing that Barrow's portion was nearly twice his own. This was, as explained by that generous woman, to compensate for John being such a 'poor, thin, deaf little thing'. Determined to see that he would eat it all she stayed, hovering over him in her attentions.

"Ain't he a dainty one though? Just look at 'im. You'd think he were a gent'l'man for all his fine manners and sparse appetite," Her voice raised in pitch as she turned to address John, "Come on now, lad! Buck up! You'll need your strength, you will!" From time to time she gave him pats on the back by way of encouragement, once with violence enough to send whatever was on John's fork over to Willie's plate. Willie, who was not overly scrupulous about such things, continued to dine with only the briefest of pauses. Wearing an almost imperceptible trace of a smile, Willie made certain to meet his master's eye before returning with full attention to his eggs, toast and rasher of bacon. The lady showed kindness enough to take her leave not long after this, and fortunate for all, it did not take Willie very long to divert his flush faced employer out of an uncharacteristically foul mood.

* * *

Chapter 29

Since John was now, for reasons unknown, more than willing to put measurable distance between himself and Mrs. Parker's attentions, whatever information that good woman might have at her disposal would have to wait. As it was already understood that they were to go 'in search of work' first thing in the morning, they left for the docks immediately after breakfast. There would be more than enough to keep them occupied where they were headed. Willie still had connections on the docks, former work mates who would find a way to steal a moment or two of idle gossip with an old friend. Someone there was bound to have some knowledge of Mrs. Younge's activities.

Knowing by prior instruction which questions to ask, and by instinct how to be discreet about it, Willie would once again do the talking. John, whose accent would certainly brand him an outsider, kept up his role as mute, this time playing the role of Willie's cousin. As such he was conveniently ignored, leaving him completely free to concentrate on everything said and seen. There was one person in particular that Willie was anxious to speak with, a man known to all as 'Stumpy'. Stumpy Smithers was so named in honor of his right arm, or what was left of it after an unfortunate encounter with a grappling hook many years ago. No longer able to do heavy manual labor, he had been reduced to performing simple, menial tasks for his bread. But no one knew this place as he did.

"Ah, so you done seen the midnight promenade, have ye' lad? Right reg'lar, like clockwork. But only for certain ships, mind. Let me tell ye' lad, that mistress 'o theirs is a fine piece of work..."

Stumpy briefly considered if, and how much, he should tell Willie, then decided there would be no harm in giving him a tidbit or two. A little friendly gossip wouldn't harm anyone, especially if you were careful who you told. Willie was one of their own. He was a smart lad too, and would know better than to go spouting off. And so Stumpy let down his guard. Without going much into detail, he told of an unusual business arrangement involving smuggled spirits, a tavern, and a brothel. A partnership of sorts, of the highest order. The very best alliances of this nature provide a balance whereby all profit to satisfaction, and all the principles involved were very well satisfied indeed. They dealt only with goods of the highest quality, and not a shilling ever passed between them. If one end of it fell, it would be difficult to connect the other parties involved. And what went on was enough to stand one's hair on end.

One thing Stumpy did _not_ tell was that he knew of these activities for a reason, as he played a small but vital role in them. For an extra bob or two it was his job to help divert the authorities' attention away, allowing a well-covered cart to pass under additional cover of darkness on its way to a certain tavern. Suddenly thinking his candor ill advised, Stumpy gave his friend fair warning. Willie should not be asking about these things, for around this place idle curiosity could kill a man.

"Mind who you go 'round askin' a'boot such things, lad."

* * *

And Willie would have done well to take such advice, for although certain his friend had asked in all innocence, Stumpy would find a way to cover his possible error. And even better, he would be loyal to both sides and make a bit of change in the process. While never naming Willie's name, for the few extra few shillings it would bring, Stumpy let Bert Younge know that someone had been lurking around. Leave it to Bert to find out who it might be.

But Albert Younge did not need to find it out, for in his mind he already knew who it was. His errand boy had first pointed the man out to him, and his face was now committed to memory. If he ever saw that man again he would kill him without a thought.

~~O~~


	15. Chapters 30 & 31

Author's Note: Thanks for all the insightful reviews. (I see I finally have a Lady A fan! Yay!)

Chapter 30

As they walked back to the boarding house that evening, Barrow took the opportunity to recap their last encounter. Ever discreet, John took careful stock of their surroundings before engaging Willie in quiet conversation. "Your friend Mr. Smithers was not as straightforward as he could have been. He knows much more than he's willing to tell."

Willie nodded in agreement, "Knowing old Stumpy sir, there's likely somethin' in it for him." Smiling in remembrance, Willie continued, "He's a wily one, he is. Best look sharp round ol' Stumpy sir. Half an arm, an' double the brains."

"Do you have any theories about that 'business arrangement' he was speaking of?" John had his own postulation and wanted to see if Willie had reached the same conclusions.

"Well sir, it's likely that th' smugglers get right generous with the liquor when the ladies come to call. An' after spendin' months at sea...," Willie reddened slightly, "Leave it to say that the benefit to them is very forthcoming." His brow slightly furrowed, Willie considered carefully before continuing, "The rest is still incomplete sir. It's easy to see how the Bull and Crown comes out ahead with their steady supply of free liquor, but what do they supply in _their_ turn? And Mrs. Younge. For the life of me sir, I canna' completely figure her part in it either. She's supplyin' the ladies, but there's naught comin' back to _her_ benefit, not as I can see it!"

John almost smiled. His pupil was no fool. There were similar questions running through his mind as well, "Yes, Mr. Smithers did speak of a three-sided arrangement. Of course we're primarily interested in Mrs. Younge's part in all this."

"I will say this much, she keeps a clean nest, that one. Her brood is much fresher lookin' than the average lot. Very unusual for these parts. An' they were much better lookin' too!" Glancing at his employer and seeing Barrow's brow ascend half a notch, Willie gave a wry smile, shrugged and added, "Not that I would know anythin' about that sort o' thing, sir."

But perhaps someone else would.

As they neared their temporary residence, John stopped to pick up a bottle of 'lubricant'. It was a well proven fact that even the most balky, tight-lipped source of information could be unfrozen and made sociable by the application of just the right sort of liquid. John's liquid of choice in this instance was a rather good bottle of port. Having found 'employment' today he and Willie would have reason to celebrate, and who better to celebrate with them than their good landlady? John steeled himself for his next performance and exacted solemn assurances from Willie that he would keep his eyes to himself.

* * *

"We start work on the morrow, Mrs. Parker!"

"Oh, now isn't that just grand! And what company are ye' with?"

"The East India," Willie put just the right amount of pride in his voice.

"Only the best for my lads! I knew that's how it would be. And even my lit'l gent'l'man ere!" Barrow endured yet another aural assault, and enthusiastic thump to his back, "But you'll be up to it a'fore long, lad! Just a little more meat on your bones, and you'll be hoistin' and haulin' with the best of 'em!"

Barrow now played his part. Removing the port from a small sack he was carrying, he pointed at the bottle, himself and Willie, and made a sign of bringing a glass to his lips. He then pointed to Mrs. Parker. His brow arched by way of inquiry.

Willie supplied the translation, "We'll be havin' a bit of a celebration ma'am. John 'ere wants to know if you'd be kind enough to join us?"

She spoke confidentially to Willie, "You know, as a rule I don't take much drink, but I certainly wouldna' want to disappoint the lad..."

* * *

Mrs. Parker did not notice that her glass was the only one in need of a refill. The port did its service and her tongue was soon lubricated to satisfaction. Willie let drop the fact that he had seen the cluster of women leaving Mrs. Younge's door during the night and their landlady, not surprisingly, had something to say on the subject.

"Oh, it's a sorry sight lad," she shook her head with emotion, "A sorrry sight indeed. And most of them was good girls, come from good families. Thraown out after bein' ruin't by them young bucks at the Bull & Crown. They keep 'er well supplied, they do! Er no-account son Bert, 'es the _worst_ 'o the lot!" She leaned in close to whisper to John, "I 'ear tell... Oh blast! _You_ don't 'ear a thing!" She turned to Willie and started anew, "I 'ear tell she works with a diff'rent set 'o men to go after the _high_ class ladies. She don't keep _them_ lassies though, just their money. Extoorsion is wot it ish! Exoorsion!"

With an almost audible snap, the final piece of their puzzle slipped satisfyingly into place. So Mrs. Younge kept a fresh looking brood for a reason. Such a valuable commodity would be difficult to acquire and maintain without the assistance of her willing partners at the tavern. But the solution to one puzzle seemed to open the way to a whole new set of questions. What was this talk of extortion? Taking the initiative to extract further information, Willie asked several seemingly innocent questions of their landlady but to no avail. That good woman's tongue was now _over_ lubricated and sliding into incoherence. Seeing that nothing more of use would be gotten out of her this evening, John pointed to his pocket watch to signal the lateness of the hour and the need to be off to bed.

* * *

Within the hour, Barrow wrote a letter to Mr. King. He was anxious to let that man know that under no circumstance should the safely of his niece be entrusted to Mrs. Younge. John's work with that man was now done, and even better, wrapped up in less than two full days. Willie took the missive and placed it in the hands of one of the chambermaids, who further encouraged by the addition of a sixpence would see it posted express with the morning's mail. Though their business here was done John decided to stay one more night. In light of these new, disturbing questions about Mrs. Younge, he wanted to leave his options open. In the morning Barrow would decide if he wanted to see this thing through to the end.

It just so happened that the lady in question would help make that decision for him.

* * *

Chapter 31

Early the next morning, a subdued Mrs. Parker left a breakfast tray on their table and scurried away complaining of headache. It was not long after they had finished their meal that a commotion sent them both rushing to the window. There, stopped on the street was the tavern's errand boy, taking last minute instructions from Mrs. Younge's establishment. The message was yelled from an upstairs window by the lady herself.

"Be sure to tell him not to go anywhere, for I'll be there straight-aways! Mind you tell him now!"

If there had been any wavering on John's part before, he now knew he was going to stay. This might be his final opportunity to gain additional evidence that might be of use in putting this entire cabal out of business. Positive that he knew where the lady was heading, John and Willie left the boarding house in advance of Mrs. Younge's exit and headed towards the tavern. Since it would not be wise for the two of them to make an entrance together, John had specific instructions for his partner.

"We'll part ways at the corner. Go down to the Bull and Crown and wait for me there. Keep eyes and ears open in my absence and make certain you don't know me when I arrive."

Willie nodded, and they were off. Upon reaching the corner, Willie continued on and John lagged behind, finding much to interest in a chandler's window as he waited for Mrs. Younge to make her appearance. The lady did not leave him waiting long. In a matter of minutes, her door was thrown wide and she hurriedly took her leave. Living in such a part of town as this the woman should have been more cautious in her actions but instead seemed to throw caution to the wind. She would be easily followed. It was obvious that something was occupying her mind, something that spurred her on. There was agitation and obvious anticipation in her manner.

And John had correctly anticipated her destination. She burst through the tavern door half a minute ahead of John, and was already seated in an ill-lit corner and engaged in conversation by the time he followed her in. Bert Younge looked up at Barrow's entrance. As John made his way towards her table he looked for Willie's position and saw it with approval. Seated towards the back while facing the door, the young man was able to see whatever might transpire. The room was surprisingly crowded for this time of day, and John's progress was slow. Wanting to take in as much of her conversation as possible, John honed in on Mrs. Younge's voice, focused his mind on it, and was able to filter out most of what she said from the surrounding din.

"So, how much is our little miss worth?"

Her companion appeared embarrassed by his answer. The reply was muffled and could not be heard. John finally seated himself as closely as possible to the lady and her companion. The inconvenience of not hearing the man's reply proved to be minor, for the lady's response answered any question on that score.

"Ten thousand pounds! If it weren't for the fact that I left a warm bed to come here I'd laugh in your face! Have you gone daft, Georgie? Use your brain! I have it on good authority that this uncle 'o 'er's would part with a mere fraction of it. It would not be worthwhile to go to Ramsgate, much less all the way to Liverpool, for my share. Such a pittance would hardly cover the cost of travel, not to mention the cost of running things in my absence. All so's you can pay your jeweler's bill? No, no, no, I don't care how much you need the money, you can count me out!"

A hushed question. This man had sense enough to modulate his tones. John turned imperceptibly in his seat to see if he could catch a glimpse of the man's face. All he could make out was shadowed profile.

" _Yes_ , I sent the letter, but my _next_ will be to tell the man that I've taken a position elsewhere. If only you'd done it right before! One Miss Darcy would have equaled three Miss Kings! You should mind your math!"

It took all John had to steady himself. Though shocked by what he'd just heard John determinedly kept his focus. There was some sort of heartfelt entreaty going on for the woman visibly softened in her demeanor as she rose to make her exit. Reaching into her reticule she threw some bills and coin on the table, "You're costing me dearly Georgie! If you can get ten pounds out of me, you can certainly get a princely sum from some soft little miss. Now go on with you!"

The lady left in a rush, but the man kept his seat. Taking up some of the money Mrs. Younge had thrown down, he waived someone over to place an order. John was now able to see this man's face, and he knew he had seen it before. His mind worked furiously, as he tried to place him, certain in the knowledge that he'd met him many years ago. At Pemberley! He was on the edge of recognition when a shadow crossed his table. Someone, a muscular young man, was standing over him.

"What do ye' want?"

Something in the man's tone of voice made John look up. He was stunned to see pure hatred in the eyes of a perfect stranger. "I'll have an ale," John somehow knew that this reply had not satisfied the young man's inquiry. He also knew without a doubt that his ruse was up. The thought crossed John's mind that this might be Mrs. Younge's son Bert. Whoever he was, it was obvious that he was not pleased with John's presence and seemed intent on exacting a toll. For the first time in a long time John Barrow felt fear.

Looking up from his own pot of ale, the errand boy noticed Bert's look, having been on the receiving end of a milder version on many occasions. The beatings that followed were what helped to make him quick. As the small boy lifted his pot, he wondered what sort of beating was in store for this man.

* * *

John quickly drained his ale and rose to leave. Willie, having been trained for situations such as this, knew what was next. He allowed several seconds to elapse before following his master out. In that space of time, He noted that one of the staff, the large hulking fellow who had only moments ago waited upon John, appeared agitated and angry. In a fury, the man threw down his towel, then whispered something to another man, someone who seemed to be in charge. His superior listened then nodded, and the younger man left the tavern in a rush. It was time to make haste! Willie quickened his pace. Passing his master's table he took note of John's empty tankard. It was intentionally turned on its side as though knocked down it haste. The signal was clear, _Keep your distance. Watch my back._

* * *

Ordinarily the pursuer, John now felt certain that _he_ was being followed. Though several streets away, John was convinced that he'd just caught a glimpse of the man from back at the tavern. There was some security in the knowledge that Willie was behind him as well, yet Barrow felt more unsettled that he'd ever felt before. There was an eerie feeling, almost a premonition of imminent danger. He did not want to lead his pursuer back to the boardinghouse, and thought that his best option would be to lose him. So he kept to the crowded avenue where his chances of doing so were best.

Abruptly, two men standing directly ahead of John's path raised intoxicated voices in heated dispute. A mongrel joined the fray, adding his voice in counterpoint. The curious began to form a circle around the combatants, egging them on. Suddenly, Barrow felt a rush of air as someone pushed past him, and disappeared into the gathering crowd. John shouldered his way through the now jubilant throng, and turning to see who was still behind him saw only Willie. Willie, momentarily distracted by the ensuing melee, was now searching the crowd to try and find John again. In that brief unguarded moment, the man who had been following Barrow but a moment ago pulled John into the darkness of an adjoining alley, and clamped an unforgiving arm round his neck.

~~O~~


	16. Chapters 32 & 33

Chapter 32

"Who are ye', and why ye' been lurkin' about?"

The voice at Barrow's ear was barely a whisper, yet hinted of strength and purpose. The breath against his cheek was rank and reeked of gin. John could not have answered if he wanted to. The man was strong as an ox, and his grip had effectively shut off Barrow's ability to breath. Though swift and strong Barrow was no match for this man, who now brought his other arm up to double the effect. John's hands wrestled in desperate attempt to dislodge the man's grip, but no amount of struggle could loosen his hold. In fact, the more John grappled in desperation, the more the man taunted him. This game was obviously to his liking.

"Look at them 'ands. Soft like a lady. Ye' belong in them clothes like I belong in me mother's. I'll give ye' one more chance. Who **_are_** ye' and what do ye' want."

The pressure momentarily lessened. Knowing that the wrong answer would probably have the same effect as the right one, or no answer at all, John took the opportunity to gasp for air.

"Ah, so your tongue don't work then? Here we go, let me fix that right up for ye'," John felt one arm leave his neck... only to be replaced by something cold and sharp, "Everyone 'round 'ere calls me the surgeon. Seein' as you're a new patient, there'll be no charge for my services. No charge a'tall."

John's mind jolted at the realization that he would very likely die here. This man was perfectly capable of killing him and seemed cheered by the prospect, his knife was poised just moments away from doing the job. Escape seemed impossible, yet so close at hand. Mere yards away, a cacophony. Two voices still raged in pointless debate, fueling a hungry crowd anxious for more. Children screamed, mongers hawked their wares, a smithy pounded metal to metal, but to John, it may as well have been miles away. Here, in this alley reeking of vileness and stale ale, with sounds of life echoing all around him, Barrow felt certain that _his_ life would soon come to an end. Strange. He faced it with a mixture less of fear than regret. His one wish of any real consequence would remain unfulfilled. Arabella would never know just how dear she had been to him.

Barrow eyes widened then closed, as the blade found its mark. There was a wet trickling at his neck but he could not cry out in pain. In a very short while it would no longer matter, for he had gone far too long without breath. His struggles began to weaken, his senses grew dim, and all consciousness began to slip away. Then suddenly, for no reason to be discerned with eyes closed, there was a dull thud. Slowly, the arm slipped from his neck, the knife tumbled away end over end, and both he and the man behind him fell to the ground.

"Sorry I took so long sir. I had to find somethin' to hit that big head of... Ach! Oh lor'! Let's have a look, sir!"

John's hand went to his neck, it came away crimson. His life's blood quickly stained his clothing and the very dust around him. Shaken to the core, Barrow pulled himself to his knees and leaned against a wall for support. He gasped for air. What had once been the foulest of stenches was hungrily consumed. John fought to steady his nerves as Willie bent over and examined him.

"It doesna' look _real_ bad sir. Long, but not so very deep." Willie tried to convey assurance but could hardly convince himself, "Come sir, let me help you up and get you away from this place. You'll be needing to see a surgeon straight away"

Willie could not help but be surprised when the master, visibly trembling and bleeding profusely, shook his head violently at the suggestion. Seeing that his employer displayed symptoms of shock, Willie pressed his point. He helped Barrow up and aided him to the street.

There, the restless crowd had grown impatient with the now dissipating fray. Seeing John's bloody figure make an impromptu appearance made them hope that their afternoon's entertainment might soon take a turn for the better. They let loose with a wild chorus of whistles and cheers. Everything passed before John's eyes like some kind of unearthly dream till finally, able to take no more, he gave way and fell to the street. A passing dray was pressed into service. Willie, with the help of some in the crowd, lay John on the cart and jumped on beside him. His knowledge of the area enabled him to direct the driver to the nearest surgeon. A crown from Willie's own pocket made the man quick. As he tried to staunch the flow of blood and hold John steady against the buffets of the dray's rough passage, Willie could not help but berate himself, thinking that he might very well be the cause of his master's demise.

* * *

Mercifully John remained unconscious through most of his ordeal, awakening only once as stitches were being applied. Willie helped hold him still. A combination of shock and a healthy dose of laudanum soon did the rest, and before long he was insensible once again. He awoke hours later in a strange room. An unfamiliar face was leaning over him. Mr. Fairclough introduced himself, and through gentle hints was able to help John remember what had transpired to bring him here. Suddenly Barrow started.

"Willie! Where is he? Is he hurt?" John thought the worst. How could he face cook ever again?

"Your servant is well. He stayed here long enough to see that you would recover, then went off to bring your carriage." Mr. Fairclough was a discreet man, and had no questions to ask of this gentleman who had come to him dressed as a common laborer, with his throat badly bruised and nearly slit. His surgeon's fee had been paid.

"And I believe you'll be fine as well sir, despite your efforts to the contrary. You have an amazingly strong constitution, but I think in future you might do well to follow a bit of advice. The human body has a set number of apertures. I suggest that you make no further attempt to add to that number. Follow this recommendation and you'll probably live another fifty years. Barring serious inflammation you should be up and about in a week or so. There will be a reminder though. I'm afraid you'll have a rather impressive scar," At this point a commotion was heard in the hallway, "Ah, I believe your servant has returned."

Willie made his appearance and helped his master into a change of clothes. He took great care not to disturb the bandage, or give unnecessary pain, as he loosely tied Barrow's cravat. Mr. Fairclough prescribed a combination of salves, draughts and bed rest, and the two men, one very pale and leaning heavily upon the other, took their leave. Self-remonstrance in ample measure convinced each one that he was to blame.

* * *

Chapter 33

Mr. Fairclough's prediction of a speedy recovery was found to be true. One day of high fever saw the worst of Barrow's ordeal behind him. At John's insistence, Sir John Murdock was not to be 'disturbed' regarding this incident. Having no one else to look after him, his staff were more than willing to make certain that he was thoroughly attended to, Constance and Matilda almost coming to blows over who would mop his fevered brow. Aside from that unfortunate incident, Simmons managed to keep the household running smoothly. Cook was determined to press food upon her 'own sweet boy' at every opportunity, and Willie, having ascertained the fact that his continued employment was in no danger whatsoever, was there to do anything his master might require. In addition to his regular household duties, he volunteered his own time to care for any 'Mr. Blevins' related tasks that did not actually require that gentleman's presence, and that could properly be entrusted to him. The gentleman was grateful and would not forget.

By the second day after his break in fever, John was restless for activity. There was one matter in particular he must see attended to with no further delay. Barrow did not yet have much of a legacy, but by living well within his means, wisely increasing his savings and reinvesting the interest, he had successfully enlarged his original two thousand pound inheritance to almost six - all this within two short years. But now his efforts had purpose. John's attorney made a call upon him at his request, for he wanted to draw up a will. It was signed and sealed in a packet, along with a letter explaining his actions. If ever anything should happen to him, Arabella would have no doubt in her mind. She would know.

By the fourth day John made ready to venture out. Simmons, was happy for a return to some degree of normalcy. Having taken on the responsibility of dressing his master's injury, he was glad to see this early indication that the young man was on the mend and would soon no longer need such painful attentions.

Standing before his mirror, John had an opportunity to see his wound for the first time. Its irregular surface cut a diagonal course, from behind his left ear down almost to his right collarbone. Red and angry, it was raised in spots, and intersected throughout by the surgeon's stitches. He thought it was hideous. Though he paid considerable attention to his appearance John Barrow did not consider himself a vain man. True, more than one fashionable tailor knew him very well indeed, and it was rare that he would leave his home without being dressed, brushed, polished and buffed to within an inch of his life. Still, he felt that he _must_ do this, both to appear in the best light before his clients, and also to compensate for what he felt were his own natural deficiencies.

He touched his wound gingerly. It seemed to throb with a life of its own. Although most of it would be hidden from public view there might still come a time... He dreaded the thought of having to reveal this thing in private. Looking at this, his most recent defect, Barrow felt it was an indignity he could ill afford to endure.

John's valet soon returned with a fresh bandage and covered the offense from Barrow's eye. Simmons, who often had the disagreeable task of quieting the frequent, giddy swoonings of several of the master's silly maids, had a different take on the matter. _He'll be fighting them off now, for there's not a woman alive who can resist the lure of a well-placed scar._

After dressing, Barrow was informed that his carriage awaited him. With no further delay he set off, for there was one other matter that he must see to. Not yet up to walking the full distance, John gave his coachman instructions to take him to a point near a certain corner. He alighted two streets away, checked his watch, and then walked on towards his rendezvous.

Barrow had not been by Mr. Smith's shop for some time, and his accelerated schedule would not allow him daily opportunity to check for Arabella's return. So yet another assignment was added to Timothy Scoggins' list of duties. He was now to inform John when Arabella was seen at the shop again. Scoggins, who had been none too pleased with his duties as nursemaid to a dotty old shopkeeper, finally gave vent to his frustration.

"Seein' as how you're so _very_ fond o' that establishment, why don't you just invite the whole lot of 'em up to my room for cake and tea?"

"You would do it for a price, Scoggins! I'll have no more out of you!" John's quick anger cooled just as quickly. He knew that Timothy Scoggins, whose considerable talent was not now being utilized, had considerable pride as well, and that this pride was being sorely tested.

"This is only temporary. It surely cannot be much longer," Their eyes met and understanding passed between them.

 _Ah, so, it's taken_ _ **that**_ _sort o' turn, has it?_ Tim had, several weeks ago, found his third lady of the season and already had his eye on the next. Seeing that his employer lagged pathetically far behind, he would do what he could to help, "Nary a problem, guv'nor. I know you're good for it."

Several days of communication having been missed, John spent some time exchanging information with Scoggins. During the course of conversation, Barrow noticed that Tim's sharp eye was continually drawn to his bandage, part of which was just visible between his collar and his ear. John, primarily out of embarrassment, but also from the desire not to give unneeded worry, had sought to conceal his brush with death from his old friend Sir John. Having no one else to talk to, he now felt an overwhelming desire to tell someone.

"There's no sense in my not telling you, in fact it would surprise me greatly if you didn't already know. I came close to being killed a few days ago, in an alley near the Bull and Crown.

Timothy's brow arched, "I heard of a commotion of that type down in that gen'ral direction sir. Several days ago. I had no notion that _you_ was in it!" Scoggins reappraised his employer, "Down there with the foot soldiers, were ye' guv'nor?"

"I suppose I was," John ventured a smile, "But you'll forgive me if I break rank and rejoin the cavalry for the foreseeable future?"

"If I had me a horse, _I'd_ be on it guv'nor."

Tim watched as John Barrow slowly walked away. _Too close for comfort_ , he thought to himself. Material considerations aside, Timothy Scoggins rather _liked_ his employer. So he resolved then and there that no further harm would come to his bread and butter. Whoever had been working with Barrow that day was a rank amateur. From here on out, _he_ would watch the guv'nor's back.

~~O~~


	17. Chapters 34 & 35

Author's Note: Thanks again for the kind reviews, favs and follows!

And now, on to the next case. After his last one John could use a change of venue, don't you think? I have to admit that I had a blast when I wrote parts of this next section. I vividly remember typing and laughing, typing and laughing, typing and laughing... I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 34

It was now early June, a full month after John's near fatal encounter. In that course of time, Barrow continued to wonder about events surrounding Mrs. Younge. Remembering the letter he'd received from Sir John, he was now able to guess why Darcy had been so changed since returning from Ramsgate last summer. There must have been a plot to ruin his sister involving Mrs. Younge and the man she'd been speaking with at the tavern. John was certain of it, and just as certain that the man was Darcy's old friend, George Wickham. Sadly, events were spoken of in the past tense, so the damage, if there _was_ damage, had already been done. John was able to derive some hope from the fact that Mrs. Young seemed disappointed with the outcome. Barrow first met Georgiana ten years ago and remembered her as an excessively shy child. The timid six year old had spent the better part of their introduction partly hidden behind her brother's leg. John could only shudder to think what effect this affair might have had on her.

But it was an unfortunate fact that now would not be the time for justice. A sore-headed and angry Bert had sounded the alarm. As a result, Mrs. Younge's 'boarding house' was now a model of shabby respectability, and her partners at The Bull and Crown were, of necessity, resorting to more conventional means to obtain their liquor. For the present time at least, there would be no further exchange of goods for services rendered. The whole sorry lot of them were, at the very least, being inconvenienced. It was, if not justice, at least consolation, and John took what satisfaction from it that he could. Indeed, at this point in time, he would have had little opportunity in which to pursue any other outcome.

* * *

The summer months were busy ones for John, tempers and excesses of every kind being more prevalent during the warmer part of the year. Not surprisingly, every request was urgent. One gentleman having to wait his turn was an anxious father, a former clergyman whose uncle's sudden death left him in possession of a title, a prosperous estate in Kent, and more trouble than his quiet, ecclesiastical life had ever prepared him for. Lord Metcalfe, Viscount Ashford, was humble and patient by nature, so the fortnight he had to wait before John could see him did not put him in ill humor. Quite the contrary, the gentleman was grateful Mr. Blevins would see him at all. Desiring the utmost discretion, his lordship chose not to disclose the particulars of his case by letter, preferring instead to reveal all when he met with Blevins in private.

John traveled into Kent at this gentleman's request and was immediately shown into the man's library. Barrow entered and found Lord Metcalfe and his young son seated within. The young man seemed both defiant and contrite, and somewhat embarrassed to be the center of so much attention. This gave John a general idea of the offense involved. Observing Mr. Blevins' reaction to seeing young William present, Lord Metcalfe calmly stated, "Sir, I love my son, almost more than anything else in the world, but at this moment I believe I am capable of taking him out of it. Anyone can make a mistake, even a grave one, but it is the rare fool who wants to revel in it..." Lord Metcalfe, used to giving sermons, paused here for effect. "…My son is begging me to let him revel."

With that, Lord Metcalfe began his tale of considerable woe. And as his story began to unfold it became quite clear that the world could be a far better, happier place without interfering neighbors. One of his neighbors reigned as queen of them all.

Lord and Lady Metcalfe, accompanied by a college aged son and two young daughters, had only recently moved into the neighborhood, assuming their vital role in it less than one year ago. Having spent most of an uneventful, rather dull married life in a much less fashionable part of the country, it soon became apparent that some adjustments on their part would be necessary in order to fit in with this society. Their neighbors were generally kind, finding the Metcalfes naive and ignorant in an attractive, pliant sort of way. And in light of their wealth, and the considerable influence that Lord Metcalfe did not yet realize he had, all were at least civil. They were, after all, the _right_ sort of people, just in need of a little polish. One neighbor in particular, a woman of limitless vigor and action, saw the urgent need to push up her sleeve and take the buffing cloth into her own hand, for no one else knew the proper way to polish as she did. Her name was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

The Metcalfes were initially grateful for this important ally. Lord Metcalfe, when comfortable in his surroundings, was generally a man of solid common sense and good understanding. Here in Kent he felt rather like a fish out of water, and while learning to swim on land was appreciative of this lady's acceptance, and the company she provided his wife. Lady Metcalfe was even more grateful than her husband, quickly falling susceptible to the influence of their formidable neighbor. Every recommendation handed down from that lady was ambrosia from Mount Olympus, every word was manna from heaven. Unknown to them, such blind faith would soon lead to disaster.

Upon hearing that Lady Metcalfe intended to administer to her own daughters' education, Lady Catherine was kind enough to show her novice that this most certainly would _not_ do. They must have a governess. When Lord and Lady Metcalfe, after meticulous screening, settled on a local lady to serve in this capacity, Lady Catherine condescended to disagree. They must have Miss Pope. A tentative inquiry on their part after that young woman's references was met with benevolent resistance, for having heard from 'some one or another' of her acquaintance that this young lady was a treasure, Lady Catherine insisted that there was no need for further references. They must write immediately to secure her. So secure her they did.

Miss Pope's transformation from treasure to unabashed voluptuary was a gradual one, so much so as to leave Lord and Lady Metcalfe shaking their heads in total confusion. As a governess Miss Pope was more than capable, far exceeding every expectation. But over the course of three months' time, there seemed to be an emerging tendency on that young lady's part to want to share the full scope of her many and varied accomplishments with very specific, in short, male, members of the household. Wilkins the butler was the first to take notice, reporting early on that he had most certainly spotted this young woman exiting from various closets, on various occasions, in various stages of disarray, closely followed by one of his footmen. Having summarily dismissed the footman, Wilkins was anxious to know what his employers intended to do about the other guilty party.

But here Lord and Lady Metcalfe were in a quandary, for any punitive action against Miss Pope would certainly reflect poorly on their kind neighbor's recommendation. Even in their innocence though, they began to wonder if perhaps 'some one or another' of Lady Catherine's acquaintance had not been well aware of the problem and happy for the opportunity to be rid of it! A month's time was not long enough for them to reach a decision on this matter. But in that space of time, Wilkins grew strangely quiet on the subject, adopting a scrupulous concern for orderly closets and a more cheerful aspect than they'd ever seen before. And in that space of time their only son, the Honorable William Carlton Metcalfe, came home from college.

Chapter 35

At this point in his narrative, Lord Metcalfe was interrupted by a knock at the door followed by a footman's unobtrusive entrance. He was almost apologetic, "Mr. Collins is here to see you my lord."

Lord Metcalfe's eyes bulged then lifted heavenward, imploring forgiveness in advance of his transgression. "It's the parish rector," he explained to John. Then, addressing his footman, "I'm engaged in estate business and cannot see him! Oh... tell him I'm in the privy for all I care!"

The footman bowed himself out, and John sat in shocked silence as Lord Metcalfe's right eye began to twitch.

"She knows. Lady Catherine knows whenever anything's afoot. She always knows," Then, without warning Lord Metcalfe's voice rose to a raucous pitch, "That Collins is the devil's own agent! And Rosings, sir, is hell! Need I say more?"

John put his head down to conceal his amusement at yet another vivid portrait of that great lady, "I require nothing more on _that_ particular subject Lord Metcalfe, I assure you. However, if there's anything else that you need to tell me concerning matters at hand... "

Lord Metcalfe caught John's hint, and continued.

* * *

Within one day and a half of the arrival of Lord Metcalfe's son, the tow headed, handsome, innocent young man was introduced to Miss Pope in ways he'd never been introduced to anyone ever before. During the course of a perambulation of the park in order to better acquaint himself with these still new surroundings, young William was accosted by this friendly and obliging young lady who, upon learning what he was doing, suggested that a certain wooded hillock deserved at least thirty additional minutes of his attention. In order to prevent any geographical confusion, Miss Pope took young William's arm and led him to that verdant, secluded place.

Though unusually naive for a lad of sixteen, he'd had a few vague conversations with his father, and several of a more illuminating nature with fellow students. So William was at least certain that this form of introduction was of a more intimate nature than handshake. And having a general notion that such a spirited and pleasant form of 'hello' should be made sacred by marriage - and that marriage would likely guarantee a constant supply of it - the young man soon began to entertain thoughts of wedded bliss. The Honorable William, wanting to do the honorable thing, made the announcement to his father the following day.

Lord Metcalfe must have spent his entire life up until this time, blissfully unaware of his latent apoplectic leanings, for there could be no other possible cause to explain how this ordinarily accommodating and peace loving man could react so violently to six simple words, 'Father, I am to be married'. Using admirable restraint, Lord Metcalfe reigned in his initial reaction which, if allowed full steam, would have turned every pump room wheel in far off Bath. This restraint was shortly thereafter tested to maximum limits when his son made a brief exit, then re-entered with the source of his happiness in tow.

This source of happiness, in the form of Miss Pope, came well prepared to plead her cause, for as she helpfully pointed out, any child which might result from their prosperous, new found love would need the sanctity of marriage - or some other form of compensation - to do justice to its noble blood. (Now, what _she_ knew and they _didn't_ was that she was almost certainly already with child. And when faced with the choice of possible fathers: a stable hand, one of several footman, a butler, a noble heir or an under gardener, who better to be the father of it than this sweet tempered, agreeable young man?) Miss Pope's insinuation was soon followed by a plea from Lord Metcalfe's own son.

In all innocence, young William sought to convince his father to see his point, "Please sir, see reason. I _must_ do the right thing. You were trained as a clergyman. You of all people should see the need for the step I'm desiring to take, and I should have your blessing." The immediate result of this encounter was spectacular. Mount Metcalfe finally blew, with enough impetus to send Miss Pope packing and flying. That same day she left to stay with relatives in Bedford, and there she remained. But with the possibility of extortion still looming large before him, and his son now driving him to distraction with incessant talk of matrimony, Lord Metcalfe sought the services of someone who would know how to proceed in matters such as this. For advice on who was best suited for the task he did _not_ seek the council of his good neighbor, the always knowledgeable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Instead, a wise and well connected friend had but one recommendation, and his lordship felt the deepest gratitude that Mr. Blevins was here and had agreed to hear him out.

Now thoroughly appraised of Lord Metcalfe's dilemma, John's attention was arrested by young William who, seeking an ally and judging Mr. Blevins to be possessed of urbane and forward thinking London sensibilities, addressed him thusly, "Sir, do you not believe that natural law must take precedence over mere social convention, and even, on occasion, civil law?"

John's brow raised a notch, "Exactly which law did you have in mind, sir?"

"The one that states that a man, simply because he has not yet reached some arbitrary age, must apply to his father for permission to marry. Even though that man is physically and mentally capable of entering the marriage state."

John, while attempting to turn a deaf ear to something very like a low growl emanating from Lord Metcalfe, calmly answered the young man, "Sir, I'm afraid that despite all your elevated reasoning the fact of the matter remains; until you reach the age of one and twenty you must have your father's blessing. Yet you seem quite determined in this." It was rare that John saw a youth so resolved to talk himself _into_ trouble.

"I am more than determined! First, let me state categorically, that I believe that the rumors surrounding Miss Pike are mean spirited and wholly without foundation. She has been slandered in the worse possible way, with aspersions being made on both her moral character and her veracity. Secondly, I feel it's my _obligation_ to marry Miss Pike. I love her and... I've... sullied her," The young man's bowed head could not completely disguise his brief, sanguine smile. William's thoughts at that moment were on verdant, secluded hillocks.

At this point in the young man's narrative another sound escaped from Lord Metcalfe's lips, a dangerous one, the likes of which John had never heard before. Young William either did not hear it or did not _wish_ to, and continued on using a different approach. Comprehending that he was surrounded by blockheads who would not see sound reason, William resorted to more elemental means, something more in keeping with a sixteen year old's method of coercion.

"Well father, either I have your blessing now, leaving Miss Pike and myself free to make amends to a rather poor beginning and to start anew within the sanctity of the marriage state, or you leave me open to all manner of sin for the next five years. Try as you might father, you shall not separate us. I have the means, and I know where she is."

Lord Metcalfe's eye once again began to twitch, this time violently. Fearing for the man's safety, John cleared his throat, summoned a surprising store of diplomacy, and addressed himself to young William.

"Sir, I am not in the habit of giving personal advice to my clients as it's certainly not my place to do so, however I feel compelled to say something here. If you object to hearing me, I will immediately return to my side of the line...," No indication of any objection forthcoming, John continued, "I have often observed that prior to falling in love, and nearly always before reaching the point of matrimony, it is generally the custom to know the name of your intended."

William could only offer a blank stare by way of reply, so John continued, "You've been speaking of Miss Pike."

"Yes... is something wrong?"

"Her name is Pope... sir."

* * *

If John derived any amusement from this episode it was kept inward, and was of short duration. Cases such as this would invariably force John to consider the circumstances surrounding his birth, and the illicit relationship which had existed for some time between his own mother and father. The inescapable fact that his mother had carried on as a mistress for almost five years, against her good judgment, and even after her lover's marriage to another, had always been tempered in John's mind by her tragic death shortly after his own birth. And the partial cause of her death being grief and shame over her chosen course and its outcome, had always served as sufficient reason to elevate her to some sort of sainted position, and to consign his father to someplace in the opposite direction.

On one level John realized that there are always two sides to every coin, he _must_ feel that way for experience had taught him so. But on another level, and he admitted it was a childish one, he could not allow clemency for his father. Yet, looking across at this young man, who despite every logical argument, and every call to reason, wanted to do what he felt to be the honorable though misguided thing, John could not help but be reminded of the fact that his father had likely wrestled with the very same types of arguments being put forward today by Lord Metcalfe, and to some degree, even himself. Such thoughts always disturbed Barrow, but were just as often pushed to the back of his mind for consideration at some other point in time. And this occasion would be no exception. As John turned his full attention to matters at hand, additional thoughts of the past were added to the clutter.

~~O~~

Yet Another Author's Note: I really should apologize for the lack of chronological cohesiveness in Favor's Returned. I probably did not follow the timeline of Pride and Prejudice as closely as I should have. Fact of the matter is that some ideas came to me out of sequence, and were posted that way as a consequence. Ah, the perils of serialized storytelling!

Maybe I'll sort it all out one of these days… Or not. ;-)


	18. Chapters 36 & 37

Author's Note: If you're still out there dear story readers, thank you for your patience! More 'not fun' stuff has intruded in real life, but I'll try to post once more over the weekend. After that I should be back on track! Not too much left, really, as we're about 3/4 of the way down the road. A lot happens in this last quarter though, so I hope you'll stick around!

* * *

Chapter 36

Not long after this exchange, John and Lord Metcalfe came to an agreement that it would be neither necessary nor fruitful to meet further in the company of Honorable William. Summarily dismissed by his father, the young man made his exit from the room, and the two gentlemen were left to plan and protect his future in his absence.

"I'm at my wits end, sir. What do you propose?"

"First Lord Metcalfe, let me congratulate you for having the foresight to take this preventative step. Too often nothing is done until the threat is actually made. Now, to answer your question, the usual course of action is to thoroughly research the subject. In order to protect yourself against any future fraud, you will want such information as will completely discredit her, if not silence her completely. However, this is _only_ in the event of fraud. I must be frank with you. Though the possibility is remote, if your son has in fact sired a child then some sort of compensation must be in order, which I will arrange for you if you so desire. If it comes down to it sir," John's gaze was uncompromising, "I will not play a role in depriving a child of his just due. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, yes of course! All I want is justice... and discretion."

"Very well sir. I will leave immediately to travel into Bedford with the intention of learning all I can of the young woman."

Lord Metcalfe grew agitated, "You actually mean to speak with this... this strumpet?" he spat out the word. "I must warn you Mr. Blevins, she represents grave danger! A young man like yourself..."

John once again kept his smile to himself. He knew that he would come much closer to truth by speaking with anyone _but_ Miss Pope, "I appreciate your concern Lord Metcalfe, and will be ever vigilant to stay on my guard."

Not quite convinced, Lord Metcalfe shook his head mournfully.

"I will pray for you sir."

* * *

John's journey would take him into Bedfordshire, specifically to the small town of Harring. He would not need a map. This part of the country, bordering on Hertfordshire, was deeply etched in John's memory. He knew that the journey from Kent to Harring would put him in close proximity to Meryton, and that taking the road which intersected that town would add not more than three quarters of an hour to his journey. The additional time would be no drawback, since selection of this particular route over the more direct one could be easily justified by its being the better maintained of the two. Of course it went without saying that this route held other advantages as well.

Being a gentleman, John had no intention of alarming Arabella with his presence. But a glimpse only, just a glimpse was all he wanted. That would be enough to sustain him for now.

It was a particularly glorious summer day, and the scenery vividly picturesque as they approached Meryton. Stevens, not often able to visit the country, was enjoying every minute of it. Even the horses seemed to be in good spirits this morning. But the coachman's thoughts were soon interrupted by a sound coming from the carriage. Mr. Barrow was rapping at the ceiling to signal him. Stevens turned round and met the upturned face of his master.

"Drive slowly through town, Stevens."

"Very good, sir."

Arabella had always been punctual in her habits. John remembered the orderly manner in which she kept shop in town. He also remembered what time of day he'd met her in the street here in Meryton, and wanted to time this visit accordingly. Barrow's natural skills of observation had been reinforced by years of professional use and he was not usually wrong. He would not be wrong on this day, for there she was!

Evidently her errand included shopping, for a partly filled basket was on her arm. She was walking with that rare combination of grace and energy that so marked her stride. And her face had that delicate bloom that John noticed she would sometimes wear when he said something to amuse or embarrass her. Barrow's heart gave a lurch. This exercise in patience would surely lead to his undoing. _What madness! I_ _ **will**_ _know what has come between us!_ He made the decision to stop the carriage, and had almost signaled the driver to do so, when he suddenly realized that Arabella was not alone. She was walking with... Adonis. As the carriage passed them, John leaned back into the shadows to avoid being seen. He closed his eyes as a feeling of hopelessness washed over him. How could he ever compete with such a golden god as that?

There was nothing left to be done here. Once a safe distance away, John signaled Stevens to resume normal pace. But even as Barrow thought of giving up, Mr Blevins began making plans to finish his business as soon as possible. He would satisfy his client within the week and make haste back to London. There, he would go to Smith's, and get the truth of the matter from her father, using every discreet means of interrogation in his arsenal. For all Mr. Smith would know, they'd be speaking of the weather!

So Mr. Blevins divorced himself from John Barrow, for Blevins had a task at hand, one that Barrow had already given up on.

Chapter 37

Arabella looked up from her book, glanced over at her aunt, and saw nothing amiss other than a wayward lock of hair. With gentle ministrations, she pushed the thin, gray wisp away from a moist brow, then tenderly stroked the cheek of the shell that used to be her dearest aunt in the world. Mrs. Tillison was resting quietly, as she did most of the time these days, leaving Arabella time for quiet reflection.

Charlie Coulter, the butcher's son, had insisted on walking with her again this morning and had called back in the afternoon, leaving lamb enough to feed a small army. The man was swiftly becoming a nuisance. He had been obvious in his attentions for several months now, finally reaching the point of declaring violent yet tender affection with sly winks and joints of meat. Arabella blushed at the thought. Oh, he was a nice enough fellow. A little clownish perhaps, but certainly easy on the eye. And as the only son of a prosperous merchant he could doubtless provide for her comfortably. But she did not love him. And Arabella, though in all other ways a paragon of good sense, was still foolish enough to want love.

However, though a firm proponent of its precepts love had not been so kind to her in return. Arabella had fallen twice, and had nothing more to show for it than an injured heart, and long sleepless nights spent conversing with her pillow. The lack of sleep could be traced to one person only. Even now she wondered if he still cared for her, or perhaps thought of her from time to time. She thought of him constantly.

After John Barrow returned to London from Meryton he had written several times. The first letter saw Arabella still hurt and angry and was almost thrown, unopened, into the fire. But something held her back. It was soon joined by a second, then after a sennight, a third. At that point curiosity prevailed and she opened them. It was then that serious doubts began to intrude. These were not the words of a libertine.

She began to wonder at her source of information. Lady Armstead, the elegant stranger who had come to call on her from out of the blue, appeared to be sincere and disinterested in her concern. But could there possibly have been something for her to gain by separating them? Could that lady have wanted John's attentions for someone else? Perhaps herself? And if there were machinations involved, how could Arabella possibly begin to undo the damage? She considered how little there was in her favor by way of comparison with that grand lady, and was overwhelmed by feelings of hopelessness.

Arabella took up her book once again, but found she was not up to the task. Her thoughts were restless, agitated, and she felt that she must be _doing_ something. But what to do? _I must find some way to communicate with John..._ Her strong sense of propriety would never allow her to write him directly, but perhaps she could find a way to send him some sort of message, a way to let him know she had since come to question her actions and had not forgotten him. There _must_ be some way...

With newfound determination, Arabella took up pen in hand.

~~O~~


	19. Chapters 38 & 39

Chapter 38

By the time John reached the town of Harring, he had transformed himself into an anxious young gentleman in search of temporary lodgings for his family. His fragile wife, unable to bear the rigors of town during her laying-in, had received advice from her physician to leave London for the peace and quiet of the country. John was going ahead to find and feather the nest. Stopping at a local solicitor, he was given the name of a promising property in need of a tenant. Now established as a prospective tenant of Rothfield Hall, no one would think it at all odd that the young man (in light of his circumstances) would need to find, and be acquainted with, the local physician and midwife. Dr. Milton proved to be thoroughly professional, competent, closed mouthed, and of no use to John whatsoever. Mrs. Gates, on the other hand, proved very useful indeed.

An inquiry regarding that lady's schedule for the upcoming months revealed that she was in for a busy time of it. Adding to the hectic pace of an unusually fertile local growing season, a sudden influx of outsiders ('beggin' your pardon, sir') were also in need of her services.

"So, there are others newly arrived in Harring besides myself?"

"I never seen the likes of it sir!" Mrs. Gates went ticking them off in audible fashion, "Let's see now, there's the Carringtons, the Wilsons, the Barnets, poor Mrs. Hempstead the widow, and..." she lowered her voice to a whisper, "...there's that cousin of Mrs. Jarvis. What a piece of work... Oh mind! Forgive me for runnin' off, sir! A decent young man like yourself don't want to hear about that sort of thing!"

Miss Pope was staying with cousins of that name. John knew he'd found her, "Mrs. Gates, I owe you apology. I have misrepresented myself, and must be forthcoming immediately, else I cause you to slander. You speak of Miss Pope, do you not?"

Mrs. Gates turned ghastly pale, "Oh sir! I meant no harm..."

"Say nothing of it Mrs. Gates, the fault is all mine," John's tone was kindly. He'd given her a fright, " I would like to be frank with you madam, but I must be assured of your secrecy."

The poor woman, too stunned to speak, nodded her agreement. Looking earnestly at her, John continued, "Very well then. I have no wife and no intention whatsoever of staying in this place. My history is entirely fabricated for the simple reason that a single man would have no reason to seek you out, and would draw unwanted attention if he did so. My sole purpose in coming to Harring is to check on Miss Pope's well-being. You see, I have very good reason to be concerned with her present state of health. For the better part of a year, Miss Pope was my constant companion." From Mrs. Gates reaction, John could tell she did not question his veracity. She was scandalized.

"So you see madam, it's now _my_ turn to feel ill at ease," John's manner was embarrassed, and as the fading vestiges of a rueful smile left his face he continued on, "I believe that I'm to blame for Miss Pope's current dilemma and wanted to take full responsibility, but before steps could be taken to provide for her we quarreled, and she left me. I still want to do everything in my power to see her through this difficult time, but I know she would neither desire nor accept my assistance. This is where you come in Mrs. Gates. I want you to see to her every comfort. The child is due in about seven months' time?"

"More like four or five sir!"

"Four or five? Do you base this on Miss Pope's information, or your own observation?"

"I been at this since before you was born! Beggin' your pardon sir, but I know when a child is due. _She_ tried to tell me different as well, but I know better!"

"Yes. Yes of course. I did not mean to cause offense, madam, you are my ally," he waited till Mrs. Gates appeared sufficiently mollified before giving voice to his thoughts, "I am surprised that she waited so long to tell me, that is all. When I think of her suffering alone..." John roused himself from his apparent revere, "Mrs. Gates, I would like a firm commitment from you to see to her every need during the balance of her confinement. I want you to give her your full attention. I think you will find it profitable."

The sight of a ten pound note was enough to commit Mrs. Gates to paper. Authored by 'The Child's Father', the document specified the time period during which Mrs. Gates' services would be needed and included the expected due date of the infant. The contract was then signed and dated by her own hand. In that short space of time, ten pounds would earn Miss Pope a good deal of unwanted attention, and provide Mrs. Gates with a welcome source of extra income. John mentally added ten pounds to Lord Metcalfe's bill. That good man would consider it a bargain.

It would prove to be an even better bargain than could possibly be imagined. As John made to leave he felt a slight tug at his sleeve. He turned to see Mrs. Gates, with maternal concern on her face and the ten pound note clutched securely to her bosom. She observed John thoughtfully as she made her decision to speak, "Sir, I think highly of you for doin' what you are for the young woman. And it's in light of that fact that I feel I must tell you somethin'. I wouldn'a feel right if I didn'a tell you."

John intuitively knew what Mrs. Gates wanted to say. Assuming a demeanor of sad resignation, John said, "Don't be concerned madam. Whatever you have to tell me will in no way change our agreement. Has she deceived me here as well?"

A great weight seemed lifted off that woman's shoulders, "Oh, cut her off, sir! The list is long!"

* * *

As John slipped Mrs. Gate's agreement into an inner pocket, he derived keen satisfaction from another job done well. Within two days of leaving Kent, his business in Harring was essentially complete and the Honorable William Carlton Metcalfe was safe. Even though Miss Pope _was_ with child, the young man had been in blissful ignorance at college when it was conceived, and now John had the proof.

Barrow stayed the night at a small local inn then, not wanting to leave behind any reasons for inquiry, stopped at the solicitor's office first thing the next morning. John informed the man that he'd just received sad news; his wife had miscarried. As a result, he had no further interest in leasing Rothfield Hall.

Leaving Harring as inconspicuously as he had entered it, John made his way back to his client in Kent.

* * *

His client was a happy man. So pleased was Lord Metcalfe with John's success that he rounded out his draft to the next twenty pounds, and considered it a bargain indeed! All signs of apoplexy were gone, and would likely remain dormant until his son's next adventure. As it was rather late in the day, John gladly accepted Lord Metcalfe's offer of an overnight stay, but an invitation to dinner on the following evening was politely declined. There was unfinished business in town, he explained to his host, an urgent matter demanding his undivided attention.

That next morning, the very first light of day saw John on the road to London.

* * *

Chapter 39

The return trip was swift. Stevens had reason to wonder at his master's hurry, for outside of the usual list of anxious clients, he could think of no other reason for his master to be so rushed to return. Especially as the master's clients were, with rare exception, more than willing to wait. After arriving back in London, John stopped at home only long enough to remove all evidence of his journey before setting off again. Not patient enough to walk the distance, he had an increasingly perplexed Stevens take him direct to his destination's door.

* * *

The bell rang signaling entrance of a customer. Mr Smith looked up in pleasure, as he did not get to see this young man very often any more.

"Good morning Mr. Barrow!"

John needed nothing from this place but the one person it did not provide. Still, he listened with studied patience as Mr. Smith showed in great detail all of his stock, merchandise John had already seen and purchased months ago. The only reason he'd come here was to extract some news of Arabella. But to his great surprise, all of his well laid plans for interrogation were rendered unnecessary when Mr. Smith offered up information of his own volition.

"By the way Mr. Barrow, If I'm not taking too much of a liberty, I have a message of sorts from my daughter."

It took all John had to guard his expression of face and voice, "I'd consider it an honor."

"I thank you, sir! I received a letter from Arabella two days ago. She was most particular in her desire to send her regards to all the regulars, and I do consider it a privilege to include you in that number. In fact," Mr. Smith perused the letter briefly, adjusting his spectacles as he did so, "Yes, yes, you were one of those few she mentioned by name. I believe the dear girl misses our society. She says that, outside of her aunt and a few lady friends, she does not keep much close company there."

John wondered what to make of this. He wanted to think that all this was done for his benefit, but dismissed the idea as false hope. He knew what he had seen, and doubted that Arabella thought of him in that way anymore - if in fact she ever had! Yet, even on the distant chance... Heeding Sir John's advice, Barrow would not squander this opportunity, "If you wouldn't mind returning the favor sir, please send _my_ particular regards when next you write. And let her know that I anticipate with great pleasure the time when she will be here with us once again."

Immediately after saying this, John reddened at the implication since this event would, in all likelihood, only occur after the death of Mr. Smith's sister. Aware that he had lost his countenance, and the knowledge of how else this might be construed, made him flush deeper still. Barrow gave a resigned sigh, drew a hand through his hair and glanced anxiously at the old shopkeeper, attempting to discern what damage his stupidity might have caused.

But Mr. Smith was a man painted with remarkably wide strokes. He saw nothing amiss in John's expression or subsequent performance.

"I thank you kindly, sir! And I'm very glad you chanced to come by today for I'll be sending off my reply this evening, "he said, taking a moment or two to jot a quick note by way of reminder. "Just between the two of us sir," the old tradesman lowered his voice, "I thought she might be settled there by now as she's had several of the young men there to call on her. But she says they are all rather silly and not worth her time." He shook his head sadly. "I fear the girl is too particular Mr. Barrow, and will die an old maid."

Mr. Smith went on to attend to business again, "Now, before I forget as I'm prone to do, I would like to show you some fine new walking sticks just in this Tuesday..."

Both men silently rejoiced but for very different reasons. John felt exceedingly grateful towards a particular young woman in Meryton. And Mr. Smith marveled that his meager stock could bring such a smile to the face of so fine a young gentleman as this one.

~~O~~


	20. Chapters 40 & 41

Chapter 40

"Do any of you fine gen'l'men know of a Mrs. Younge? Keeps a boarding 'ouse?"

The grimy cluster of men standing by the corner were far from fine, and even further removed from gentle. They paid the wiry, bandy-legged crier no heed. But he did not mind their sullen inattention. A quid or two would be waiting for him one way or the other. His only qualifications for this job were current unemployment and the ability to read, more or less. At least well enough to comprehend the simple instructions written in precise script on the dog-eared square of paper he carried in his hand. After a few seconds more of silent hostility, he wound his way through the crowded street down towards the next corner. One man, standing slightly apart from the unwashed assemblage, broke away unnoticed and followed him in his course.

Though far from perfect, Mr. Timothy Scoggins was a man of his word. After his employer was injured three months ago, Scoggins vowed to look after his safety. Part of that resolution involved finding out as much as possible about those responsible for the deed. The above mentioned name figured prominently. Understandably, every hackle raised as Scoggins heard the name 'Younge' spoken once again. John Blevins was his bread and butter, and Tim would guard his interest at any cost. One trait Scoggins shared with his master was natural curiosity. Talents from his second vocation made it a simple matter to satisfy this nature.

A well-timed bump from behind discomposed the man long enough for Scoggins to extract the paper from his hand, and let it drop it to the ground. In stooping to pick it up, one glance was all it took. It was now committed to memory. "Hallo there, professor!" Tim called the man back, "Ain't ye' a clumsy one! Ye' dropped this 'ere paper," With that Scoggins returned the note to its owner. After receiving copious thanks Tim took his leave, and within seconds was indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd.

* * *

After several moments of staring in blank incomprehension at the date on the morning paper, John Barrow could only come to the conclusion that time must have taken flight. The last occasion when he remembered paying any mind to the date was when he'd returned home from Kent sometime back in June. After an illuminating visit to Smith's shop, where his purse had been lightened considerably by the purchase of several new walking sticks, he remembered coming home and ticking off all the months of living that might possibly remain to the surprisingly stalwart Mrs. Flora Tillison.

Having received information that Arabella was _not_ a worshipper of gilded deities after all, and supposing that his message to her would be relayed and comprehended, John felt a glimmer of hope that there might soon be understanding between them. But he'd learnt a valuable lesson. His second, impulsive venture into Meryton had not only been against Arabella's explicit wishes, but had also been the cause of his own self-inflicted misery. Therefore he would wait, as Arabella had requested, until she returned to town before attempting to see her again. With the purpose of making time pass more quickly he concentrated on his livelihood with almost single-minded determination. As usual, whenever he was so focused, time's hands _did_ move swiftly. This could be the only explanation for the remainder of June passing by unnoticed, along with its sister month July. And now here it was far into the second week of August.

With time now fully on his mind John attended to his watch. Realizing the closeness of the hour he made haste to leave for his standing appointment. Timothy Scoggins would soon be waiting at his corner, and there were several matters John wanted to discuss with him.

* * *

Every meeting with Timothy Scoggins was productive, for no one else knew so much of what was going on, in almost every quarter, as that man did. In addition to supplying facts and rumors relating to John's current case load, Scoggins was always quick to volunteer seemingly unrelated tidbits of information. Wise man that he was, Timothy knew that what seemed at first to be useless flotsam might prove useful to his employer in unexpected ways. And useful to himself as well.

"... an' by the way, there's someone out lookin' for that Mrs. Younge of yours, some gen'l'man by the name of Darcy." Tim prepared to gauge his employer's reaction. He was surprised by the strength of it.

" **How** do you know this?"

With that Scoggins produced a ragged piece of paper. Written in his own crude hand it was, word for word, an exact duplicate of the note he'd 'borrowed' earlier in the day. Tim's mind was at work. It would appear from his employer's response that he might possibly have given Mr. Blevins reason to place himself in harm's way once again.

"Is anythin' wrong, guv'nor?"

Completely distracted by the contents of the note, John did not answer for several moments, "No, not at all. Thank you Scoggins, you've done well." Barrow's mind was racing. His first thought was wonder. What could possibly induce such a man as Fitzwilliam Darcy to willingly seek out the likes of Mrs. Younge? With his injury still fresh in his mind, John knew better than anyone what dangers might await Darcy there. His second thought was dread. There were few men who, out of concern for their safety, might possibly induce John to go back into that part of town again. Fitzwilliam Darcy was one of them.

Chapter 41

"And how did you know to come _here_?" Darcy was suspicious. The man standing before him with cap in hand was not one of the men he had hired to help him in his search.

"I told ye' once, I'll tell ye' again! Your fella was a clumsy one an' walked right out of 'is shoe. He set the paper down to fix it. I happen to be there, and I happen to read it when he wasna' lookin' (I can read well enough, if ye' don't mind!). And, as I also 'appen to know where this Mrs. Younge is, I say to myself, 'What a pity someone else should get the reward an' not me, especially seein' as _I'm_ the one knows 'er whereabouts.' Now, of course, if you do na' _want_ to know..."

"Don't be daft, man," Darcy reached for his purse.

* * *

Shown out of the fashionable townhouse by an inattentive footman, Timothy Scoggins could not help but regret his promised good behavior. As he passed vast quantities of elegantly carved, easily transportable silver stuff, he had to consider how much more satisfyingly weighed down his specially made pocket might have been. With a melancholy sign, he dropped the five quid he'd received from a grateful Mr. Darcy into its cavernous maw.

Several streets away, a carriage door opened as Scoggins came near. Called to sit within, Tim briefly recounted the conversation he'd just had with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. John Barrow now knew what Darcy's next move would be, and his intention was to be right behind him.

And, by the merest coincidence, Scoggins also knew with great certainty where _he_ would be this evening.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy was no fool. Aware that this part of town held some danger, Darcy had taken care to change his attire before setting out to encounter Mrs. Younge. But even dressed down he still looked very much out of place, and as he stepped down from a nondescript carriage he was uncomfortable with the amount of attention he seemed to be attracting. After asking a ragged old man for additional directions, Darcy felt fortunate indeed that the walk to Mrs. Younge's door would be a short one. Grateful for the assistance, he gave the ancient beggar several coins by way of thanks, and proceeded on his way. Glancing up at the darkening sky, he hoped that he could finish his business here before night fell completely. The sooner he washed his hands of this unpleasant business the better.

But Darcy's attention was seized by the sound of violent activity going on behind him. A young woman, or perhaps a girl, was crying in alarm. Her pitiable entreaties were punctuated every few seconds by the sound of a harsh male voice, and once by the unmistakable sound of an open-handed blow. Incapable of turning a deaf ear to whatever was going on, Darcy set off in the direction of the commotion. Perhaps he could be of assistance.

* * *

It was rare that Bert Younge needed to partake of sweet fruit without invitation. Most were more than willing, and he was not accustomed to such usage. He'd had an eye on the fishmonger's pretty daughter for some time, though she would always repel his advances. But when she passed the tavern a short while ago he decided that he would wait no more. Besides, business was too slow for his presence to be needed. So with a curt nod to the proprietor, he tossed his towel down and left to follow her path. Coming suddenly from behind he drew his arm through her own, providing rough escort towards a familiar secluded alley.

And now she was digging in her heels, making such ruckus as to draw attention to them both. But any who noticed her struggle would also see who she struggled against, and would know better than to interfere. In truth, her exertions merely served to excite him further. He drew his hand back to strike some of the fight out of her, _But not too much!_ he reminded himself, and smiled in anticipation of the sport ahead. The cover provided by encroaching darkness was convenient but not necessary, his passions far too high to be deterred by the few pitiful remaining rays of sunlight. This sweet young morsel, still untried, would soon be his.

Suddenly his progress was blocked. He looked up to see a tall man, a gentleman from the looks of it, standing before him. Holding his walking stick by its end, the man seemed determined to use the carved handle as some sort of weapon. The sight almost made Bert laugh out loud.

"Unhand that girl!"

"Ye would do well not to attend to matters what don't concern you!"

" _You_ would do well to do as I say!" Darcy relied solely on subterfuge, "I've dispatched my man to alert the magistrate. If any harm comes to her I promise you'll be bound for the gallows. I suggest that you unhand her, **_now_**!"

That train of logic, coupled with the sudden appearance of the girl's father and several other male relatives, encouraged Bert to back away from his prey. The young girl, crying hysterically, was immediately surrounded by her friends, who could not thank Darcy enough for his interference on her behalf. He now made certain that the magistrate was summoned in earnest and left his card in case further assistance might be needed at some future time.

"I must apologize to you all," genuine regret in his voice, "I would gladly stay longer, but urgent business awaits me that cannot be delayed." After receiving numerous assurances from the girl's father that all would be well, Darcy executed a clipped bow and prepared to take his leave.

Plans thwarted, Bert vowed that he would exact revenge on this interloper before the evening was done. But now was not the time. Knowing better than to take on a gentleman in front of this many witnesses, he continued to back away. But as he made his retreat something caught his eye! An abrupt movement from someone standing behind the gentleman caught Bert's attention. Someone worthy of his notice was nearby. Someone who should have known better than to come here again. The appearance of this certain someone was timely indeed! Looking forward to an immediate outlet in which to vent his frustration and rage, Bert pushed through the crowd and strode away with renewed purpose.

Bert Younge possessed an orderly mind, of sorts. The opportunity presenting itself, he would settle old scores first. Having an idea that this man might be planning to pry into his mother's affairs once again, Bert knew of an ideal place to lie in wait. He also knew of a short cut. The stable close to his mother's boarding house had been abandoned long ago, and there was seldom any activity on the old mews at all, especially at this hour. The man's path would carry him in that general direction, and Bert's intention was to be there to meet him.

But little did he know that the hunter was being hunted.

* * *

Barrow had been spotted, of this much he was certain. And though Bert Younge was nowhere in sight, it seemed reasonable that this vicious coward would try once again to sneak up on him from behind. John's desperate plan to divert Bert Young's attention away from Darcy appeared to be successful. And so far Darcy was still completely unaware of his presence.

John had been ready to defend the girl himself, only to end up watching in horrified amazement as Darcy placed himself directly into harms way. And what perverse irony that his new enemy Bert Younge should be the cause of an old friend's danger. Unfortunately, drawing the danger away from Darcy meant turning it onto himself.

But this time Barrow had come prepared for the worst. Reaching into his pocket he felt for the knife that he knew would be there, seeking to reassure himself with its presence. Instead of reassurance though, all he felt was regret that he needed it at all. Sir John had shown him years ago how to defend himself and now Barrow might just be forced to test his abilities. He had never before killed a man and had no desire to do so, but there would be no hesitation on his part should the need arise. He much preferred living and would rather kill than be killed, or suffer the pain and humiliation he'd endured in that wretched alley months before.

* * *

Bert remembered his last encounter with this man. To say he had a personal grudge with him was to put it mildly. It was bad enough that he'd awoken from it with a sore head and bruised pride, but there was more, much more. His mother was forced to retrench from what had been a lucrative business arrangement, and The Bull and Crown had missed out on three months' worth of increased profits because of this man. To Bert Younge, this was the same as if money had been taken from his own purse.

As though prompted by the thought his hand went to his pocket, but it was not money he sought there. He felt an odd thrill as his hand glanced the sheath hidden from public view. The blade that it held was sharpened and ready. This time there would be no cat and mouse game, he would make it quick! This time, Bert promised himself, he would not fail.

But the plotter was being plotted against.

* * *

Knowing that Darcy was well on his way towards Mrs. Younge's residence, and fully aware of what dangers might lie in wait for him if he did so, John had no choice but to turn back in the direction of Edward Street - but his attention was divided! Intent on protecting both Darcy and himself, his eyes were just as often trained over his shoulder as on the path ahead.

* * *

Completely dilapidated, what had long ago been an active stable was now barely more than two walls and a fallen roof. But there was still enough coverage for concealment. Hearing footsteps, Bert glanced through a chink in the weather-worn wall. The man was approaching, just as he knew he would! Methodically, deliberately, Bert removed the knife from its sheath and drew it from his pocket.

Two hunters set their sights.

With his eyes never wavering from his approaching victim, Bert tested his knife's sharpness one last time, slashing at a young sapling that had presumed to push itself up through the hard-packed earthen floor. It gave way with no resistance. Satisfied at last that his weapon would do very well on a much softer subject, he prepared to make his final move.

And final it would be, for so keen on making his own preparations, and so certain of his own abilities, Bert made one unforgivable error. He did not watch _his_ back. Albert Younge would not succeed in this undertaking, or any other ever again. And he never lived to know who it was that drove a slender blade into his back and through his heart. The deed was done quickly and quietly, with no malice aforethought.

And solely in defense of bread and butter.

~~O~~


	21. Chapter 42 & 43

Chapter 42

 _Bert Younge is dead!_

That information caused ripples of shock to flow. From The Bull and Crown on Edward Street all the way down to the docks, word of it spread like wildfire. But though there might have been a shortage of silent lips and unwilling ears, there was an over-abundance indeed of dry eyes on this occasion, everyone accepting the news with almost philosophical composure. Even the law seemed curiously untroubled at having no suspect or witness to the crime, and the magistrate's buoyant demeanor seemed almost more inclined to mete out reward than punishment.

And what of his beloved mother? Not even she seemed overly saddened by his passing; the one handkerchief spent on it did not require turning over. Despite his love for her, Mrs. Younge often thought her son a brute and a hindrance. And on that propitious future day when she made her fortune and re-entered more polite society, her son would have been a burden indeed. There were also other, more immediate, considerations to account for her evident lack of anguish. Concerned that one of their joint enemies had committed the deed and might make her his _next_ target, she felt far more fear than sorrow.

In fact, so discomposed was Mrs. Younge that she gave up information to that vexatious Mr. Darcy on his third attempt, when she normally would have held out much longer. And she settled for a much smaller amount than she might have, had she been in her usual form. But while she lost financially she did not lose sleep, at least not concerning her friend. Having so many other problems of her own at present, Mrs. Younge was firmly convinced that Georgie Wickham could fend for himself. Him and that worthless little baggage of his.

John Barrow heard of the murder early on. His response was shock, followed swiftly by relief. He found out about it by means of his usual source, Timothy Scoggins, who delivered the information on the very next day, and in an even more nonchalant manner than usual.

* * *

As unpleasant as the previous day's event had been, John was grateful for one thing. He'd gotten a glimpse of the Darcy he remembered. Barrow now had first hand proof that the Darcy of old, the one quick to come to the aid of anyone in need of assistance, was still alive and well. What he'd seen was so far removed from the malignant rumors he'd heard regarding Darcy's change of character that Barrow was now inclined to think them the result of idle gossip, and nothing more. Or at the very least, any recent imperfection of temper must be on the surface only, and not affecting the inner man.

Having already put a halt to his busy work load for several days, during which his persistent friend made additional visits to Edward Street, John decided to see this personal matter through to the end. And then, quite suddenly, his protection appeared to be no longer necessary. Darcy returned to Mrs. Younge's residence no more. But John was still curious about what might have prompted those visits to begin with, for if his far-flung theory about Ramsgate was correct, this woman could only be an enemy to Darcy and his sister. Was she perhaps attempting blackmail?

John's curiosity was soon to be partly satisfied, for it was around this time that Barrow heard, from various sources, an interesting piece of news. There appeared to be some sort of race on to find the whereabouts of a Mr. George Wickham. Nearly every merchant in town, at least those selling wearable, edible or intoxicating stuff, had a warrant out for his arrest. And several gentlemen were searching for him as well. It seems that he'd made off with someone's daughter.

The conversation John overheard months ago at the Bull and Crown between Mrs. Younge and someone resembling Wickham came readily to mind, as well as the gist of that conversation. Could Darcy have been searching for Mrs. Younge in the hopes of determining Wickham's whereabouts? Connecting these occurrences with his previous conjecture on events at Ramsgate, Barrow now reached the conclusion that Georgiana must indeed be a victim, and that thought could not be borne.

With the intention of helping to thwart any plans of that nature, John Barrow added his own name to the list of those interested in finding George Wickham. And suspecting that his old friend Darcy might have already utilized the services of Mrs. Younge in order to accomplish just that, Barrow once again made plans to follow his friend. He would set out first thing on the morrow, and only hoped that there would be time enough to assist in some way.

Chapter 43

Just as John theorized, Darcy did venture forth in the morning, to a neighborhood little improved over his previous expedition. John followed Darcy's carriage with his own, keeping a full street length behind on the crowded avenue so as to avoid suspicion.

Darcy alighted from his carriage in front of a boarding house not too different from the one on Edward Street. At seeing Darcy approach the house, Stevens knew to go a certain distance and stop. Meanwhile, John quickly pulled the shades and made a few quick alterations. In a small sack was a partial change of clothes and a bottle of spirits. Jacket and waistcoat had already been removed; additional changes took no time at all. Cambric was replaced by a rough woven work shirt. Well-worn high-lows replaced slippers, and a silk hat replaced by an oversized flat cap. A liberal sprinkling of gin added to the effect. John quickly exited his carriage without assistance, and at a brisk pace turned back towards the boarding house. Stevens noted how much different his employer looked upon leaving the carriage than when he first entered it, but was not surprised. There was not much that did surprise him when his master was at work.

Upon entering the house, Barrow listened for sounds of a recent entry, which he followed up the steps and down a long, narrow corridor. John approached the door in question, and, after listening for the voice he wanted to hear, settled in. Anyone passing would hardly take note of the drunken laborer sprawled on the floor with his head resting against the door jamb, except perhaps to drive him away. But this was a perfect perch from which to listen to all. Unfortunately, what John heard were the sounds of two men making immediate plans to leave! There was business to conduct, and it would take place elsewhere. John quickly propelled himself off the floor, and keeping his face down leaned against the wall in drunken posture. At that moment the door was flung open and two men stepped out.

But Barrow would be saved from immediate discovery by the sudden cry of a voice within, of feminine variety, which demanded the attention of one of the men preparing to take their leave. "Wickham, dearest, would you please bring back something for tea? La, I'm so hungry! I'm certain I will faint dead away in your absence, though from love or from hunger I do not know!" An immature giggle accompanied the last sentiment.

"If you wait for my return, dearest, you can swoon into my arms."

John took quick note of Wickham's face as he came near. Thought his reply had been all sweetness, his expression was grim. He then added, "On second thought, my love, we might be gone for several hours at least. Hold out but a short while, my angel, and I'll send something up for you."

In apparent need to vent his true feelings he shoved John as he passed and raised his voice in disapprobation, "Go on with you!" Wickham's push caused John to lose his balance. As Barrow reached for the wall to steady himself he happened to look up just as Darcy was passing. And Darcy chose that exact moment to look down.

In that instant, their eyes met and locked.

* * *

A chill passed through Darcy, and his brow furrowed in concentration as he sought to place the face before him, a face growing increasingly pale under his unrelenting scrutiny. "I beg your pardon, sir," the man muttered under his breath, finally lowering his countenance as he eased his way past in the narrow hallway.

The voice, though low, was distinctive. Rough textured baritone. Darcy felt certain he'd heard that voice before, years ago, in intermittent intervals when its change was still incomplete. Every intuitive feeling said that he knew this man as a boy. He attempted to force youthful memories to the forefront of his mind, anything to help attach a name to the face, but there was too much on his mind at present to make a quick connection. With great reluctance he finally continued down the hall. Then, not ten paces away, he stopped in his tracks as it came to him with shocking clarity. _Eton! John Barrow!_ _ **His**_ _voice!_ Darcy quickly turned round to look once more, but the man was now gone!

Darcy felt hairs on his neck ascend. How disconcerting to see a ghost from the past amongst the living! He shook his head to clear it, but recollections crowded in all the same. _Barrow left Eton without a trace. It must be almost eight years since I last saw him, and six years since we despaired of ever finding him. By then father was dying, else I would have done more._ Then a less emotional, more rational line of thought fought to gain the upper hand in Darcy's mind. _But surely I must be mistaken. That man was a drunkard, almost a beggar! John could not have sunk so low._ Darcy remembered Barrow's own words, _I_ _ **will**_ _have my share of happiness!_ At the time those words were spoken, there was no doubt in Darcy's mind that the young lad standing before him would make it so. But now Darcy felt little comfort in the remembrance.

As they quit the steps and neared the doorway he lengthened his stride to keep close to Wickham, but before he crossed the threshold, he allowed himself one more glance back up the steps and strained to see down the still empty corridor. With a sigh of resignation, he once again turned his full attention to the man two steps ahead of him. A fully grown man who possessed not one tenth of the worth of that boy from so many years ago.

* * *

There were windows at each end of the long hallway. As soon as Darcy and Wickham passed, John quickly and soundlessly went to the closest one, the one overlooking the back of the house. He lifted himself out and onto a wide ledge. There, with shallow gasps, he caught his breath. Equal parts of emotion and exertion had taken his breath away. _He knew me! I'm certain of it!_ A flood of memories came to him, and then the reality of the present. As he considered his outward appearance, John gave a wry smile. _I suppose I've given him good reason not to regret our separation._ The humor of that thought went as far as his lips only, it chilled his heart.

Down in the dusty yard below were two women hanging laundry. "Look'it Fanny, over there..." One of them pointed in John's direction with her chin. "... on the lover's ledge. I wager Molly Tipper's 'usband done come 'ome early again. He'll catch 'er yet!" With that the women dissolved into laughter. John let out a short sigh in deference to his ridiculous situation and, seeing his way clear once again, pulled himself back in through the window. He would save his recollections for another place and another time, for right now there was work to be done.


	22. Chapters 44 & 45

Chapter 44

The first matter at hand was to ascertain the identity of the young woman in George Wickham's room, and John had already determined how best to go about doing just that. Leaving cautiously from the front door, John maneuvered his way through the busy avenue where he soon found a vendor selling savory pastries of apparent straightforward origin. In exchange for a tuppence he purchased a nice sized pork pie.

Returning to the boarding house, John quietly took the steps two by two and regained his post at Wickham's door. An ear pressed firmly to its surface caught the sounds of a woman humming tunelessly and nothing more. Confident that she was indeed alone, John rapped sharply on the door, hoping that his distant memory of Darcy's sister would be sufficient enough to serve him on this occasion.

The door was fearlessly thrown open by a pleasingly stout young lady of above average height and forward manner. Any fears John might have had regarding Georgiana were dispelled in an instant. No matter how else that young lady might have changed, one thing was certain, pale blue eyes did not turn brown. Though his former fears proved to be without merit, John was still curious about the identity of _this_ young woman.

The gentlemen were to be gone perhaps as long as several hours. John would allow himself no more than thirty minutes. So, all the while keeping careful watch on the front door, he explained his purpose in coming, "Excuse me miss. This was sent up by Mr Wickham, for a Miss Morris I think."

"That must be mine, but my name is Bennet, you ninny!" Despite the insult, her manner was teasing, playful.

"So sorry miss!" Barrow appeared appropriately apologetic. The name Bennet was also of interest to John, for he remembered both Darcy and Bingley as being _very_ well acquainted with that family. His curiosity getting the better of him, Barrow determined to extract additional information from his subject, and in an effort to ingratiate himself as much as possible, gave her a brief smile. The effect of that small action was more successful than John could possibly have imagined, for it resulted in the immediate removal of any remaining floodgates to a deluge of information.

More than anything else Lydia craved attention, and her share of Wickham's had been steadily decreasing these past few days. There was so much news to tell, and as a virtual prisoner in this room there was no one to share it with. Though not in the habit of conversing with servants, almost anyone at this point would do. _He looks tolerable enough_ , she supposed, although he reeked of recent drink. So she returned his smile with one of her own, lowered her voice and spoke in conspiratory tones, "Well... Bennet for now, but soon to be Wickham! Oh, I've so much to tell that I'm certain I shall burst! What fun we've had! We left from Brighton ten days ago to be married, before any of my sisters, mind you, though I'm the youngest! At first we were to go to Gretna Green, but then my dear Wickham said it would be a much better joke if we were to... "

The sound of someone entering the front door interrupted her discourse and put John on full alert. He relaxed after seeing who it was. Heavy footsteps on the stairway, punctuated every so often by various wheezings and clatterings, announced the arrival of Wickham's promised repast. Before long a plump, sly looking young lad made his appearance at the open apartment door, removing evidence of a hurried feast with one hand. The other hand held a small tray upon which rested a cold roast fowl, suspect for the absence of one of its legs. But Lydia, too thrilled by this second evidence of Wickham's love for her, did not notice any deficiency. Shortly thereafter, she resumed her panegyric, elaborating on her fiancé's many perfections. And his perfections were, apparently, without end.

* * *

 _In the space of thirty minutes, I've learnt more of Miss Lydia Bennet than I would ever wish to know_ , John thought to himself as he entered his carriage for the return journey home. The innkeeper at Meryton, previously suspected of embellishment in his detailed sketches of that region's denizens, was now deemed a master of understatement. 'Handsome and silly', had been that man's portrait of the two youngest Miss Bennets. _Silly indeed, and I'm an Englishman_ , thought John, as he exhaled at length and stretched out his long legs. _Wichkam almost has my sympathies. Almost._

Or at least he might have had them, had John not been firmly convinced that Wickham still planned to escape his fate. Barrow succumbed to the swaying of his carriage with his head thrown back against the cushions, closing his eyes in a futile attempt to dispel the throbbing at his temples. It was amazing how much information could be revealed in thirty minutes time - which of course brought to mind the person responsible for his aching head. As it so happened, the most pertinent information came, not from that young lady's actual words (copious though they were), but from the hidden meanings found tucked away in between. One statement in particular proved interesting indeed, so much so that John could recall it almost word for word...

 _"...and I think dearest Wickham is planning a surprise! Why, just this morning I saw him counting up the money left from yesterday's visit by that odious Mr. Darcy... you see, he's finally giving my Wickham what he deserves, after abusing him abominably for so long! It must have been a princely sum, for such a sweet smile came to my dear Wickham's face. And what do you think happened next? A little while later I overheard him arrange for a hackney chaise. I think he plans to take me out on the town. In grand style! I'm certain of it! Dearest Wickham... And, if at all possible, he's even more excited about our upcoming nuptials than I am, for he's already started to pack! He doesn't know that I know... I will try to let him have his secret, though I'm certain I will burst!"_

From just that brief passage, Barrow was certain Wickham planned to escape his future bride. And John was equally certain that he would fail, for any steps made in that direction would face impediment indeed in the form of a strong and burly man named Bruno. Bruno Winkler, who hailed from foreign shores, was one of the two footmen who rode the back of John's carriage, and a more amiable soul was not to be met with. Divesting himself of powdered wig and livery coat, he had been more than happy to oblige. John had given him what few instructions were needed and was certain they would be carried out to the letter.

Barrow wondered at Darcy's motive for this intervention, though a match certainly appeared advantageous under the circumstances. Despite the fact that Darcy had been refused by the second daughter of that family, and Bingley had seemingly abandoned his pursuit of the eldest, it would appear that Darcy had gone to considerable trouble to protect the reputation of that family from scandal. Whether this intervention was motivated by remaining partiality or sustained interest Barrow did not know. Though the idea of second chances was particularly appealing to John, for if given one more opportunity with Miss Smith he would use it wisely, and without hesitation.

In any event John had done what he could, and only hoped that his actions might possiby, in some small way, serve to benefit his friend. For the remainder of his homeward journey Barrow's thoughts were on friendships and separations, those of long ago and one of recent occurrence.

* * *

And much later that evening, at some unholy moonlit hour, George Wickham was strongly encouraged to return to the comfort of his bed.

Chapter 45

In a little over a month's time, John would have an idea just what his actions had accomplished when a good friend came to call, a call precipitated by a variety of reasons.

* * *

Sir John Murdock was far from sedentary by nature and retirement did not suit him well. Leisure time made him uncomfortable, and the more time on his hands, the more anxious he would become. So it proved beneficial that his surfeit of acquaintances would, from time to time, find various reasons to keep him occupied. Before long, Sir John Murdock found himself carrying a light case load. This seemed to suit him perfectly, as an ideal compromise between the restless nature of his mind, and the increasingly balky inclinations of his body.

This business of his would take him to town every so often where, if necessity demanded a stay of any marked duration, he would stay at his old residence. This, of course, would provide him with both the opportunity and excuse to spend time with a source of constant worry and concern, his former ward and protégé John Barrow.

Sir John noted that Barrow had been growing increasingly reticent lately, even declaring recently that he 'no longer needed society'. The young man had never been the sort who needed many friends, instead seeming to thrive with just a small number of very close ones. But now he seemed to want to distance himself from everyone. This seemed especially to be the case since his injury of four months ago, an event that the older man was made aware of not by John himself, but by one of his servants. Cook, who at times considered herself almost a mother to John, had broken rank and written, motivated by concern not just for her employer but also for her grandson Willie, who had accompanied her master on that eventful outing. Though disturbed that John had chosen not to take him into his confidence, that dreadful episode would not be mentioned on this occasion for two very sound reasons. Sir John would respect John's privacy, even though he felt that commodity was becoming far too important in his young friend's life. And he would keep silent on his own account as well. Sir John knew far more of John Barrow's business than that young man was aware of, and he didn't want him growing even more cautious than he'd already become. Besides, Sir John had secrets of his own, was _sworn_ to keep them, and he didn't want a curious John Barrow on _his_ hands. So, even as he feared for John's well being, he would keep his concerns to himself... at least for now. But one thing he knew that he could always do was lift his spirits. And the news he brought with him would accomplish that in no time at all.

* * *

"I heard something from a contact yesterday, something that might interest you,"

They sat in the drawing room by a blazing fire. The heat of the flames combining with the warmth of their libation lent a relaxing atmosphere to the room. Sir John, unconsciously playing host in his former home, made adjustments to the fire as he spoke to his friend.

"There's been a good deal of speculation going on at White's. It seems that your old friend Bingley is returning to Hertfordshire in a couple of days," He looked at Barrow significantly. "A hunting party. The fellows at the club are wondering if perhaps Bingley's marksmanship will have improved since his last visit there. His spirits certainly have! I understand that your friend Darcy will also be one of the party. The game must be especially plentiful in that part of the country."

John's head was down as a heartfelt smile overspread his features. He knew what sort of game Sir John alluded to, and hoped that both of his friends would soon find precisely what they hunted for. This thought was soon colored by the bittersweet realization that he too might benefit from a similar expedition in that part of the world. Arabella was never far away in his mind. Barrow mulled over these thoughts privately for a while before looking up at his friend. "Tapping the same old wellspring for gossip, are you sir?" John smile was now sly as he angled for the identity of Sir John's elusive contact.

"You'll have to do better than that, lad." Sir John chuckled as he refilled their glasses with port, "You won't get a name out of me, so mind your business... "

He cast a sideways glance at John as he passed him his tumbler. A moment ago Sir John had observed a variegated play of emotions on his friend's averted face, now his mood had lifted. He was laughing.

"... and read your paper! Society column. Bingley. The betting sort at the club are giving him little better than a fortnight after his arrival at Netherfield."

* * *

Sir John's stay was short this time, but as always, John felt he'd derived the most benefit from it. From what Barrow had learnt, Darcy's intervention on behalf of the Bennet family _did_ seem to be paving the way for something more. So it was with a cheerful aspect that John Barrow followed sage advice and attended to his paper.

But Charles Bingley was a sly dog. Not caring whose wager he ruined he accomplished the deed in ten days flat. At least that was what 'The Times' seemed to indicate, as it trumpeted the news of Bingley's engagement in minute detail. Fitzwilliam Darcy was also a subject of that column. He was reported to have returned to town from Hertfordshire. Thus far he kept to the seclusion of his townhouse and did not entertain visitors. This made it plain to John that Darcy's second suit must be a failure.

He felt keen disappointment for his friend, but could do nothing more to help him, for John Barrow was once again a busy man.

~~O~~

Authors Note: We're coming down the home stretch now. Only three postings left! Thanks for sticking with me.

Random Note: If any of you are wondering about John's financial status, leave it to say that our boy is flush with cash. John's fees run anywhere from 50 - 300 £ per case (his clients can gamble away more than that in one night) and he's constantly working, averaging about 600-700 £ per month. So an average year can bring in anywhere from 7500-8500 £. Even factoring in the high overhead assiciated with running a house and a business (and paying his tailor!), John does very, very well indeed.


	23. Chapters 46 - 48

Chapter 46

Due in large measure to the time he'd spent assisting Darcy, 'Mr. Blevins' found himself a good deal behind in his caseload. And in addition to those neglected duties, a sudden emergency required his presence in Kent. As fate would have it, a certain young man had fallen in love once again, this time at school, and this time he must marry. The Honorable William Carlton Metcalfe was soon to be wed to the headmaster's spinster daughter, and John's presence was requested in Kent to assist Lord Metcalfe in the settlement. The matter was eventually resolved to everyone's dissatisfaction, not unusual in cases such as these, and John was then free to return to town. On his way there, he made a new acquaintance. In a manner of speaking.

While in the town of Bromley awaiting a minor repair to his carriage, John took advantage of the unexpected rest to enjoy a light repast at The Bell, the local tavern and inn of good repute. As he lingered over his after meal beverage of preference, John's attention was suddenly siezed by the sounds of a grand entrance and resultant confusion, interrupted periodically by the distinct voice of someone used to giving orders. Shortly after this preamble, Barrow was entertained by the courtly ingress of a matronly lady of great social significance followed, in order of importance, by a young woman slight and sickly of appearance, that young woman's personal attendant, and an impressive array of secondary and tertiary attachments. Proceeding in grand sweep on her way to a private room, the leader of this parade suddenly drew up short in front of John, a perfect stranger to her, and tipped his cup to see what he was drinking. Though in a hurry and not in the best of moods, she condescended to acquaint John with the bilious nature of coffee, ordered him to stop his imbibement this instant, said that the proprietor would be advised to cease serving it, and then, with no further to-do, continued on her way.

After a brief moment of shocked incredulity, Barrow was informed by one of the staff that he'd just been honored by the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whereupon John finished his coffee with added enjoyment and stepped outside for air.

 _So_ _ **this**_ _is Darcy's aunt. And the second one must be his cousin Anne._ John's mind traipsed over sundry amusing thoughts as he crossed the stable yard to check on his carriage. Walking in his usual quiet manner he suddenly found himself within hearing distance of several footmen, standing and sitting in various postures of repose by the rear carriage house door. Judging from his livery, the one with the most information belonged to Lady Catherine and, not unlike that great lady, he had the most to say. So deep in their gossip, they failed to notice the presence of a gentleman. Since some of the names being bandied about were of interest, John, not wanting to disturb their pastime and curious in the extreme, made himself less noticeable by finding shelter just around a corner. From his post John managed to overhear most of what they said. Her ladyship's foul mood now had explanation.

It seemed that Lady Catherine, with a frankness John was now intimately acquainted with, had made it plain to both a Miss Bennet and her nephew Mr. Darcy what her precise feelings were on the prospect of a match between the two of them. She had apparently made no headway with the young lady, who had rebuffed Lady Catherine with equal frankness. How the gentleman had responded was not yet known, but John Thomas remembered Darcy's fondness for opposing his aunt, and had faith in his friend.

So it came as no surprise to him when, a few days after returning home, The Times trumpeted yet another announcement, this time the engagement of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. Now both of his friends had availed themselves of second chances. Both of his friends would marry for love. And John had the satisfaction of having, in a small way, served to help the cause. This was truly a time for rejoicing, which he did, before settling back into his endless routine of working. And waiting.

In a month's time it was only a pleasant memory.

* * *

Chapter 47

Around this same time but miles away, on an unusually cold night near the middle of November, two close friends were relaxing in the less-than-adequate library of a great house in Hertfordshire. Seated by a crackling fire they shared thoughts, memories and copious quantities of good brandy. Darcy's face wore a pensive cast, even more so than usual, as he broached a subject which had been on his mind for several months.

"Bingley, do you remember John Barrow?"

Bingley's face, bright just a moment ago, now mirrored his friend, "How could I ever forget?" a long pause followed, during which the younger man's countenance fell even further, "I often wonder how life has treated him. And if we might... no, you had _other_ concerns... if _I_ might possibly have done more to find him."

Darcy now related his eerie encounter of several months past, and his hope that he might somehow have been mistaken. Another long pause followed during which the two friends gave in to further contemplation, and an even more somber aspect pervaded the room. But as melancholic tempers did not suit him, it was to Bingley's advantage that a idea suddenly came to him. In his mind was a possible solution, and on a nearby table, paper and ink.

* * *

It was a few days after this, just after mid-November, that John Barrow received an unexpected letter in the morning's mail. It took him completely by surprise. The sender was Mr. Charles Bingley, it was addressed to Mr. John Blevins, and it read as follows:

 _Dear Sir,_

 _Almost a year ago you were of great assistance to me in a financial matter, and would not allow me to repay you in any way except thanks. I must say that your fame is well deserved and you have quite won me over. It is with the certain knowledge of your abilities that I find myself requesting your assistance once more._

 _I am trying to locate an old school friend. He is a gentleman now almost twenty- three years of age, originally from the vicinity of Greystoke-On-Upton, _shire. While together at Eton seven years ago, our acquaintance meant the world to me. Unfortunately, what I truly thought to be an unbreakable friendship was suddenly cut short when, for no fathomable reason, he disappeared. With the assistance of a mutual friend I spent a year actively searching for him, but despite our efforts he was not to be found. We abandoned our search, but not the regard we felt for him. I regret having so few details of a personal nature to pass on to you, but I do have his name, Mr. John Thomas Barrow. I would be more inclined to forget my own name than this one._

 _In about three weeks' time, both me and the above referenced mutual friend are to be married in a double ceremony. In light of this, we would very much like to find Mr Barrow, and if possible, renew our friendship. This request may seem trivial, but a happy resolution is of the utmost importance to me..._

John threw his head back and willed himself to check the tears that had pooled and were waiting to fall. This was reproach. Well-earned reproach. _Bingley and Darcy are far more generous than I deserve. All this time... They always judged me on my own merits, and did not condemn me for those superficial things I lacked._ What a bitter lesson it was to consider how much of his loneliness had been brought upon himself. His friends had even gone so far as to try and find him. And no wonder they had failed for he was in town by then, far from the only home he'd ever spoken of, and where his presence was no longer welcome.

So they _would_ meet again. Something, perhaps fate, seemed to demand it after all. But how to explain himself? After his chance meeting with Darcy there would be much to explain, indeed far more than John felt comfortable doing. Much less so in such a joyous setting as a wedding party. _Let_ _ **me**_ _choose the time and place_ , he thought to himself, _Some time after all the excitement dies down. Someplace quiet, lending itself to frank discussion. A good brandy will be in order I think, in prodigious quantity._

But in the meantime, since John most _definitely_ knew where Mr. Barrow could be found, a letter was sent to Mr. Bingley requesting that all correspondence for that party be forwarded to Mr. Blevins' own address, and Mr. Barrow would be certain of getting it.

* * *

For the first time in years, far too many for such a young man, John Thomas felt at peace. Always sober minded by nature and inclined to take himself too seriously, how was he to know that so much comfort could be derived from his own folly? Never had he felt so content as now, after having been proven so wrong. And there might be additional reason to derive solace from his foolishness. If he had been so very capable of miscalculating his old friends' regard, could he have underestimated in another instance as well? His thoughts drifted towards that town called Meryton, and he wondered what might be occupying the mind of one of its citizens. In his heart he had come to cherish the hope that she might, on occasion, be thinking of him. Dare he consider that her thoughts might be more than occasional? Hopes of this nature lingered on till long after his last candle was extinguished that evening, and continued on in his dreams.

* * *

Chapter 48

Sitting on the largest of several trunks placed by the parlor door, Arabella awaited the kind neighbor who would take her to the post. Looking about the empty apartment, it was difficult to imagine that this was the same place she'd lived in all these months. The old place had lately undergone such drastic change.

It had been almost three weeks ago, on a brilliant morning in early November that her aunt reached a monumental, and final, decision. On that day, after almost a year's convalescence, Mrs. Flora Tillison decided that waking up was a tiresome exercise, one that she would rather not do any longer. And so she didn't. Arabella saw to the execution of her aunt's final wishes, and laid her to rest between an august oak, and that small portion of earth occupied by her long departed husband. It was now well after mid-November and Arabella's plans were set to return to London. She would soon be home again, but knew not what awaited her there.

In quiet contemplation, Arabella unfolded one of three letters that had long ago been committed to memory. She read it yet again, imagining his voice framing the words, and felt quick tears begin to form. Never a day passed without attending to them, reading them, fingering his close script, as though these actions could somehow connect her with their author. Never a day passed without thoughts of John Barrow. Her initial anger now seemed absurd, and had long ago given way to doubt. Doubt, in its turn, had passed to sorrow and self-blame. She would never forgive herself for the harshness of her words as she turned him away that day. Even now, after the passage of many months, it was still fresh in her mind. Her eyes closed in shame as she pictured the hurt that had come to John's face, the hurt she'd inflicted, when she rebuffed his kind efforts to comfort her.

There was a slim chance for hope, the possibility that Mr. Barrow may have made some effort to contact her again. There might have been some sign tucked away in the letter she'd received from her father five months ago, but she could not be certain. Mr. Smith's letters were vague at best, and that letter in particular left so much to be desired; _'... and also Mr. Barrow, the well-dressed young gentleman who used to fancy gloves so much, said to send his particular regards as well, along with our kind neighbors Mr. Tyler and Mr... '_. In that lengthy catalogue containing the names and descriptions of all those who, on some sort of regular basis, frequented Smith's, John's name was near the end. There was nothing to set him apart from the rest, but at least he had responded. At least he still came. But, even with this small glimmer of hope, doubt still prevailed. Could any love stand such a test? And if by some miracle it had, she knew that she must test it yet again.

So it was with a heavy heart that Arabella boarded the coach that would take her back to London.

* * *

"She's back."

"Say what, Tim?"

"Miss Smith, she's back. I saw 'er in the shop this mornin'."

"Thank you Scoggins. Oh, Tim!" as Scoggins turned to walk away, John called him back again, "You've discharged your duties at Smith's. I'll take it from here," Scoggins chose caution, and held his tongue. Meanwhile Barrow reached into an inner pocket, and without paying much attention to what he was doing drew out several bank bills. "This is for the extra trouble."

Timothy Scoggins looked down and saw three twenty pound notes. His brow arched and his spirits lifted in tandem, "No trouble a'tall guv'nor!" A hooded glance at his employer seemed to confirm that Barrow had not noticed what could only have been a mistake. The man was completely preoccupied. _Ach! He's done for! Married 'afore years end, or I'm a saint_ , thought Scoggins, as he gathered his money and adjusted his flat cap to a jauntier angle. Whistling a tune he turned and proceeded on to attend to other, less noble, pursuits.

~~O~~


	24. Chapter 49

Authors Note: We're almost there! It might be time to break out the hankies, if you are so inclined.

As always, thanks for faving and following! And to those who have taken the time to review, I can't begin to tell you how much that means. Thanks to each and every one of you!

Chapter 49

Barrow's spirits were not as cheerful as Scoggins', for he still considered his immediate prospects as uncertain at best. In fact, the only thing he knew with any real certainty was that Arabella had not been pleased with their last meeting, and that this was perhaps his final opportunity to put things right again. He _must_ make things right. Immediately after meeting with Scoggins, this resolution led him to the small apartment of rooms above Smith's shop. Barrow's knock was soon answered by a harried maid-of-all-work, with a large wooden bowl occupying one hand and a laundry basket the other. Where the third hand had come from with which to open the door John did not know, but he would close it for her.

"Mr. Barrow to see Mr. Smith."

Sizing him up, Cecilia instinctively knew that this man should not wait in the hall, "Yes, sir. The parlor is this way sir, if you please."

Mr. Smith was not used to visitors, certainly not from among his patrons, and most definitely not from so very fine a young gentleman as this one. When he entered the room, his bearing reflected that fact.

"What an honor, sir! What an honor! Just say the word and I'll be happy to oblige."

"Please sir, the honor is all mine."

Going straight to the heart of the matter, John went on to relate his purpose in calling. He assured Mr. Smith of his ability to support a wife, and in what manner he could do so. Then, stressing the honesty of his intentions, John begged a private interview with Arabella.

Poor Mr. Smith! To say that he was shocked would be understatement. As he called for Cecilia to send Arabella, his brow was furrowed with confusion. He could recall no symptom of attention or affection between these two at all! He had to admit that he had not been the most observant of fathers. _Perhaps I should have attended more._ Yes indeed, it would have been far better for everyone if he had!

Before Arabella entered the parlor, she was informed by smiling Cecilia that a well-dressed, well-mannered, well-to-do young gentleman was waiting for her there. Arabella knew immediately who this would be, and did not know if she more anticipated, or dreaded this moment. As she entered the room her eyes appeared tentative, her countenance pale.

Mr. Smith did not know what to make of this, but gave his daughter the credit of good sense. Though his life's work had been devoted to caring for the future needs of his only child, her dowry, even augmented by the small inheritance left her by Mrs. Tillison, would be by no means impressive. And although Arabella had grown to be a very pretty young woman, looks would only go so far. _Give the man some encouragement, child. Such an offer will not likely come your way again!_

"Arabella, I wish for you to hear what this gentleman has to say," he squeezed her hand and, with one parting kiss upon her forehead, quit the room.

And there she was.

After months of separation they were finally together again, and John felt almost drunk from the sight of her. Discomposed, but not completely discouraged by her solemn demeanor, John took a few moments to arrange his thoughts and words in orderly fashion, "Miss Smith, I believe I owe you an apology. From the start, I have never made my intentions very clear. There may even have been times when..."

"Sir," Arabella's voice was trembling. Her head was down and she would not lift it up again, "I think it only fair that I make you aware of something before you go further."

 _She will not have me_ , John thought to himself, "Say what you must," he said quietly.

It took some time for Arabella to gather her courage. "There is something about my past that you must know. I will not attempt to make excuses, but would wish for you to consider me as a girl of fifteen, and perhaps judge me less harshly," Glancing up briefly, she saw only kind attentiveness on the face of her listener. But knowing what was yet to come, she lowered her gaze once more, "Five years ago I caught the eye of a wealthy young gentleman. Overwhelmed by his attentions, I chose not to hear my own better judgment. I was vain and subject to flattery. He made very pretty promises to me and we were secretly engaged. In exchange for this grand gesture, I was expected to make certain regrettable concessions, and..."

Here Arabella had to marshal her strength to continue again, "What has been taken from me can never be replaced. For several months I made myself available to him, my decision justified by the belief that we were soon to be married. At that time I did not fully understand the consequences of my actions, but was soon to learn. Not long thereafter he left me… but all of his friends would come 'round, thick as locusts they were, to try and take his place. Sometimes... even now some of them will try. I refused to have them, so they circulated gross falsehoods against me."

Garnering all of her courage, Arabella finally met John's eyes, "At some point in time, you will likely hear that I am no better than a whore, and that if I refuse _anyone_ , it is only because their price is not to my liking. When we were in Meryton together..." quick tears began to fall, "...a lady called upon me. She related all that she had heard about me from her brother. She said... she said that _you_ knew all about me, and that you would only want ... Oh! Please forgive me for misjudging you, and please try to understand! I have no brother to protect me, and my father, bless him, _still_ does not know. But the man who takes me as his wife will know, for I shall be honest. I must be honest..."

Silence followed. There appeared to be some sort of conflict turning in John's mind, and Arabella thought the worst, _He will not have me!_ She bowed her head again, this time in quiet shame.

A variety of emotions wrestled to fill John all at once. There was anger. Anger that whoever did such a thing was, in all likelihood, still alive and breathing. And fresh fury directed at Lady Armstead, whose stratagems had created so unforgivable a breach. Then came a heady mixture of relief, hope and tentative joy, followed closely by guilt, for considering _his_ feelings before her own.

Gently lifting Arabella's chin, he waited until her tear-filled eyes met his. To see her so cast down, nearly tore his heart in two. _Heaven help me if I find the one who did this to her!_ Once again quelling his anger, John attended to more immediate concerns, "Miss Smith, how could I possibly hold any of this against you when you have done no wrong?" John's voice caught on ragged edge, " ** _You_** have been wronged... and even I am not without blame." He closed his eyes as memories intruded. Memories of his ill-advised caution and the hurt it had caused, "When I stop to consider how my behavior towards you must have added to your misery... I offered precious little proof that I was unlike those others. If anyone here must be judged harshly Miss Smith it is me alone. _I_ am the one who was circumspect when you deserved truth and candor. You will have it now, for it's _my_ turn to be honest, and in all fairness there are many things about me that might justly cause you to turn away..."

So John held nothing back. Some of his life Arabella already knew; she wanted only his trust in her, wanted only to hear it from him. He told of his illegitimacy, of how his own mother had suffered an even worse fate at the hands of his father, a man he described as the worst of all libertines. John spoke his father's name with a passion that belied indifference, and made a hasty vow never to mention it again.

Barrow went on to speak of his livelihood, how his employment often kept him away from home, how it at times exposed him to all that was base and mean, all that was cruel, and how this might affect anyone connected to him. And he spoke of the possibility, the reality, of danger. _I cannot hold back, he thought, she must be forewarned._ Barrow hesitated only a short while, then told her of his scar, the hideous reminder he would carry to his grave.

If John expected to see fear or disgust in Arabella's eyes he was surely disappointed. What he _did_ see gave him further reason for hope, so much so that he reached for her hand as he continued on, his voice now rendered variable by emotion, "And so now you know the truth, except for one thing. I have no heart Miss Smith. Though I suppose there's something beating within my breast that might be called by such a name, it's a lawless, unruly object. I have no control over it whatsoever. When it skips about for joy, quickens with ardor or, as it often does while in your presence, stops beating altogether, all these powers belong to you alone. From the very beginning of our acquaintance Miss Smi ... Arabella... my heart has been yours. I sometimes fear that I cannot live unless you treat it kindly."

"Oh, fie," her feelings overwhelming her, Arabella could only whisper, "Fie, John Thomas. You most certainly have a heart. You will _always_ have a heart. You will have mine. Pray, keep it safe from harm."

John would leave nothing to misunderstanding, "Then, you _will_ have me?"

Arabella could now see how much her caution must have hurt this decent man. Never would she doubt him again! It was her intention to tell him this, along with a thousand other things, but now would not be the time. Try as she might, she was far too full for speech and could not frame the words. Finally casting futility aside, Arabella answered with a happy nod.

Only after exhaling with explosive force did John realize he'd been holding his breath. Gathering Arabella gently into his arms, he was content for the moment to hold her close, his cheek nestled against her soft, auburn curls. With such quiet eloquence as this, what more needed to be said? Lacking a maiden's hesitancy, Arabella's hands went, in forthright fashion, from John's lapels to his shoulders, one hand venturing further as she noticed his scar, what little of it was visible. It was then that realization dawned. This had not been there in the early weeks of their acquaintance, as she most certainly would have seen it. And it had not been there when John came to Meryton. The thought of what must have occurred in her absence was frightening. Even worse, what _might_ have occurred! "Oh John..." Her fingers were gentle as they lightly traced its surface. "...my sweet love. To think I might have lost you and never known." Arabella shivered as though chilled, and they instinctively drew closer. Her arms now encircled him protectively, and with her head resting fully upon his chest, Arabella could feel the furious rhythm of the heart that would always be hers.

Finally, their eyes turned towards each other. Resolving to eradicate all signs of past unhappiness, John lifted her face and lowered his own. Arabella closed her eyes and quivered as his lips glanced softy against her temple. He whispered a promise to cherish and protect her for the rest of his life then, cradling her dear face in both his hands he kissed away her tears, leaving not a trace of one behind. At some point during the playing of this tender scene, Arabella's inquisitive hands went wandering again. Though prudence must soon intervene, John reveled in the knowledge that his bride's ardent nature would match his own.

Yet, even at such a time as this, with so much glorious reality here before him, Barrow's first instinct would lead him to doubt his good fortune and to wonder if any of it could possibly be true. And even now, as his lips meandered an impassioned yet resolute course towards meeting with her own, he could not help but think of what had happened countless times before, _This is all pixie dust, the stuff of sweet dreams. I will awaken and she will be gone._

~o~O~o~

Author's Note: Next up, the Epilogue, final author's notes, and a scene salvaged from an ill begotten sequel.


	25. Epilogue & Author's Notes

Epilogue

John blinked his eyes upon discovering that the morning was full upon him, he had been so lost in thoughts and memories, and in his dreams. Some persistent sound brought him back to reality. There had been a knock at the door, "Yes Simmons, what is it?"

"Excuse me sir. I noticed you were getting a much earlier start than the custom, and wanted to see if you would take your breakfast a bit sooner as well?"

"No Simmons that won't be necessary, but I do require something. Bring me a bottle of claret, and a glass from the best set. Please."

"Very good, sir." _Waking early to sit in the dark and attend to nothing, and now wine before breakfast!_ If Simmons thought these proceedings at all unusual, he wisely saved his raised brow until the door was closed.

The wine was brought, and poured, and remained untouched.

Barrow checked his watch, a quarter of ten, the wedding was soon to begin. And what a reasonable and just conclusion after so many months of suspense. John was glad for his small share. Bingley and Darcy had favored him with their friendship long ago, and he had finally helped to settle the score. From the events of the past several months, it appeared that his former friends had not changed for the worse as he had once feared. With a bow to fate, arrangements had been made to meet with them in the near future. Perhaps they might, in time, come to consider him as a friend once more. Living a life of self-imposed exile, there were few around him that he could regard as close acquaintances. He had almost reached the point of not caring one way or the other, but it would give him great joy to have these two as such again.

John reflected on the fact that he had successfully accomplished all he set out to do as a young boy. He had crafted a life for himself that was as far removed from his father's life as possible, all the more satisfying since he had never had to bend his knees to anyone. He made his living doing what he did best, what he truly enjoyed doing. And as everything was done in secrecy and under the strictest confidence, it appeared to the world at large that he had absolutely no profession at all, as well befits a young gentleman of self-sufficient means. Since there was never a shortage of vice and deceit, there was never a shortage of business. He was able to support himself very well, indeed.

Of one thing he felt most justly proud. He could list among his clients one of the three ladies on record ever to have been granted parliamentary divorce. His findings (and the Winslow family's healthy purse) had helped to secure the case. Though such public disclosure bought disgrace to her husband's entire family, it could not in conscience be avoided. His father's influence kept the man from prison, but could not protect him from censure. He was now branded a scoundrel and a wastrel, with a black-hearted, vicious soul. Yes indeed, John had been more than happy to be of service to Penelope Thorne the once, now former, wife of Edward Thorne. John Thomas Barrow had returned all favors.

He did have _one_ thing in common with his father though, he had found himself a tradesman's daughter. She was intelligent, brave, honest, and dearer to John than life itself. Yes, John Thomas _would_ have his share of happiness and, having waited so long to attain it, would brook no further postponement. Only a day or two ago, his beloved had declared with mock gravity that she now rather _liked_ the sound of 'Arabella Barrow' and would no longer need to grow accustomed to it. That being the case, John had responded with equal gravity, his lady should have no material objection to a _very_ short engagement. All wisdom and loveliness, Arabella could not help but agree. What was already abbreviated became shorter still, as yet another fortnight was duly removed. With special license obtained, this most recent change in date posed no difficulty at all. Attended by her parents, they would be wed in five days' time. Sir John Murdock would stand by Barrow's side.

These happy thoughts coincided with the clock striking ten. _And this is the hour. Bingley, Darcy, I am with you in spirit._ John raised his glass in silent tribute.

 _Finis_

 _~~O~~_

* * *

Final Author's Note: So, so many lovely reviews to the final chapter! Thank you so much!

When I first started planning this story over twenty years ago, John Thomas Barrow was intended to be sort of a poor man's Darcy, with his story playing parallel to the events in Pride and Prejudice. But somewhere along the line I fell in love with Mr. Barrow. To return the favor, he wrestled my story away from me and made it go in completely unexpected directions and tested my patience in the process. This story does require a great deal of patience to follow, so to anyone out there stubborn enough to still be here with me, I cannot thank you enough. Your feedback has made re-posting it here an enjoyable process.

So what's to become of John and Arabella? After all they've been put through, a very happy ending is in order, don't you think? How could it possibly be otherwise? Their love has a firm foundation, based not just on physical attraction, but on complementary temperaments, mutual respect and equality of mind. And they're the very best of friends! Thanks to Arabella, by nature a sociable person, John will of necessity interact more with society. And laughter will become a vital part of their life together. Coming from such divergent backgrounds, a well-developed sense of humor will prove to be a useful commodity for both of them. Especially since, at any time during the course of their intimate conversations, Arabella will likely be inclined to observe how much softer her husband's hands are than her own. John will probably rejoin with observations on the need for diligent hand protection, and advice on where the best gloves can be found.

And they will always be close. Observers will often note how protective they are of each other. John will stop at nothing to insure the safety of his wife, and Arabella will be quite the lioness in defense of her husband. Since neither one is adverse to the laborious task of creating children (both of them, in fact, being diligent workers in this regard) they will have several. John, always old for his years, will finally get to experience childhood, albeit vicariously. As for Arabella's helping John professionally from time to time, perhaps, but it would likely be without his knowledge. He would probably be far too protective to allow it, but perhaps Arabella would know better than to ask! She is, after all, a very clever woman and accustomed to being useful. Even the best of marriages has a sticking point. Perhaps this will be theirs.

When Sir John Murdock dies (Not any time soon, we hope!), he will leave to John Barrow an enormous fortune of well over one hundred fifty thousand pounds, a neat little estate in the country, and that perfectly respectable town house in London. Unknown to Barrow, Sir John's personal fortune of ninty thousand pounds had been augmented over the years by infusion of funds from The Duke of Charrington, who had just this goal in view. Lord Thorne _did_ have a conscience, and the wisdom to know that his only worthwhile son would accept nothing from his own hand. Perhaps they will come to terms one day.

After gaining financial independence, will Barrow continue on as Mr. Blevins? I think so - for a while at least. He loves being active, and he loves what he does! And even after retiring to the life of a gentleman, I'm certain he can be lured out of inactivity from time to time, to come to the aid of a friend... or the service of the Crown. There are times when refusal is unthinkable.

And finally, what will be the outcome of the reunion between John and his former friends? I had started posting a sequel on another site many years ago that, upon recent perusal, left me feeling a little mortified! Unless I can find files from three computers ago, or paper notes, or get inspired by something resembling a plot, I won't be posting it as a separate story here. But in closing, I would like to share one scene that fortunately _did_ hold up under scrutiny, a scene involving three young men in a parlor at Pemberley, trying their best to break the ice. Setting the stage, this takes place about two months after they've all been married. I think you might enjoy it. Or at least I hope you do! In any event, thanks again for reading!

Michele C Venable

* * *

Parlor Scene - 'By Trial and Error'

Chapter 3A

Sitting in various attitudes of complete, even ungainly repose, the three friends engaged in brandy enhanced contemplation. Though they were giving it their best, it would seem that seven years times three, twenty-one years total, might just require more than two full bottles of spirits and one day's worth of companionship to discuss and digest. They had all, by unspoken agreement, assigned topics of solemn hue to a gradual approach, limiting their discourse to general subjects. The current political scene, news from Town, and the occasional, neutral, Eton remembrance were hashed and re-hashed with a vengeance.

It was fortunate for all that Bingley recalled another area of common ground. Well over an hour ago they had followed his lead, and happily shifted their topic to the most recent, felicitous, change in their lives. Such a subject naturally demanded not only speech, but a great deal of personal reflection. And now these three pagans sat in mute fellowship, each one paying silent homage to his own goddess of choice. As though acknowledging their supplicants, the faintest strains of silvery laughter could be heard drifting down from Mount Olympus - or perhaps from right down the hall. After an appropriate period of veneration, one of the faithful dared venture to break the silence.

"What do you suppose they're talking about?" Bingley had somehow managed to remain balanced on the very edge of his chair, his solemn countenance in stark contrast to a somewhat flushed complexion. He had lifted his glass in fair measure.

"Don't get your hopes up Charles, they're _not_ talking about us. They're not even _thinking_ of us," this from Darcy.

"Oh, but I think they _are_ ," was John's reply. "The question is, in what light are they holding us?"

After giving it some thought, Darcy conceded with a smile. "Point well taken. I've heard an unaccountable amount of laughter coming from that general direction. I'm not at all certain that bodes well."

"You don't suppose they're..." Bingley's perch grew even more precarious as he leaned forward to speak.

" _Do_ take care, Bingley! Sit back, I beg you," John admonished his friend. "And to answer your question, I suspect they're comparing notes and finding us equally diverting. To make matters worse, the three of us are all fairly well sloshed, you know. We're going to have to make a reappearance at some point in time, and I'm afraid our condition won't help to swing prevailing opinion in our favor."

"I am _not_ sloshed, John, nowhere near it! Speak for yourself if you can't hold your liquor."

This was spoken with amiable conviction by Bingley, but rendered much less convincing when he chose that precise moment to lose his seat and fall with a crash to the floor. John, seated closest to him, was at his side in an instant, helping him to his feet. With his arm around Bingley's shoulders he gently maneuvered him back into his seat.

John knelt next to Bingley's chair, concern tinging his voice at the expression on Bingley's face, "Are you alright Charles?" A moment longer and he understood. One glance confirmed that they shared the same distant memory.

"It was Robert Winslow, wasn't it?"

"Yes it was." John nodded slowly, smiling at the remembrance. "You came to my defense."

"He pushed me down, and you picked me up again. On the way to our rooms we met Darcy for the first time. My nose was bleeding."

"Yes, copiously."

Barrow's smile grew ever more melancholy as he considered the direction his friend was taking. Bingley was silent for a moment longer before asking the inevitable.

"Why did you leave?"

"Bingley." Spoken as a warning, Darcy, who up till now had been silent, felt he must intervene.

"This is a question I've been asking for years Darcy! I will have my answer!"

"Give him time Charles!" But Darcy's second warning fell on deaf ears.

"You were my closest friend, yet you left without explanation. A note slipped under my door. A piece of paper that may as well have been blank, for all the comfort it brought!"

With alarm, John saw Bingley wipe his eyes with his sleeve. He would have preferred anything, even outright anger, to this. Seven years ago his decision had seemed sound, even disinterested. At the time he had allowed himself to believe that his absence would not be keenly felt by anyone. Now, sitting across from him was first hand proof of just how wrong he'd been, and how much pain his actions had caused. He would prolong it no longer. This was the time. John slowly rose to his feet..

"Bingley, I had to leave. I allowed myself no other choice."

"But you were vindicated! Edward Thorne was..."

"Edward Thorne was, and still is, an avaricious fool, destined to fertilize some poor plot of ground before his time. No my friend, Edward had very little to do with it - though I will admit that my actions were calculated to grieve someone closely connected to him."

The question was written on both their faces.

"Let me explain myself. I owe at least this much to you. To both of you." John paused for a moment, then a sound crossed his lips that might have been a laugh had it not been so bitter. "You know, my Bella... Arabella... is so wise. She has advised me on numerous occasions to season my words with care, as I so often find myself in the position of having to eat them. Well my friends, this is a particularly unsavory dish."

Considering the amount of liquid they'd all consumed John's throat felt unaccountably parched, and he spoke his next words with difficulty. "Several months ago I made a vow never to mention this name again, and up until now I never thought there would ever be a reason to break it." The moment he'd dreaded most had arrived. "Edward Thorne and I share someone in common. Lord Thorne, the Duke of Charrington, is also _my_ father."

Shocked silence followed, during which time John struggled to continue. "By leaving Eton I childishly thought I might cause him pain, and spare you both the same should it ever have become public knowledge."

Looking at Barrow with empathetic eyes, Darcy could understand his obvious distress. Like John he too was by nature a private man, and well understood what this revelation must have cost him. Knowing that Barrow now needed some kind of response, some sort of reassurance from his companions, Darcy ventured forth to break the impasse.

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms, and said with unstudied nonchalance, "Well Bingley, that explains it. I always told you he had noble bearing."

John quickly glanced over to judge Darcy's meaning. Seeing only goodwill he exhaled in relief. A major hurdle was crossed, and the ice remained partly broken. The next half hour or so was spent in easy, if somewhat disjointed, conversation. Bingley was fueled by another full bumper of brandy.

"I will have to write that fellow Blevins again to thank him. The man is a wonder! Indeed, he must know everyone's whereabouts, for he was able to accomplish in no time what Darcy and I failed to do in a year. I would recommend his services to anyone - although I must say that his business acumen is sadly lacking. Twice I sought his assistance and twice there was no charge!"

Looking closely at Bingly and seeing that he spoke in ernest, John began to entertain the foolish hope that he might yet be able to keep his choice of profession to himself. However, another quick glance in Darcy's direction saw that man staring intently back at him, although nothing was said. Meanwhile, Bingley shouldered on.

"You don't know how relieved I am to finally see you. And you _look_ well John. Very well indeed! You must give me the name of your tailor, or at the very least loan me your man to tie my cravat!"

Stifling a yawn, Bingley now turned towards Darcy to make a point. Since there weren't many occasions when his friend was so obviously in the wrong, not even extreme exhaustion - or significant inebriation - would steal this opportunity.

"Well Darcy, it seems your fears were unfounded after all." Turning to John he explained, "Our gloomy friend saw a drunken pauper in London a few months back. He thought it was you."

* * *

Chapter 3B

Unresolved issues aside, they would soon need to retire for the evening. A comparison of pocket watches to the sturdy timepiece on the mantle confirmed that it was well into the early hours of the morning. The ladies had indeed been patient with them, as it was now long past time for bed. Bingley, the one most in need of restoration, made the first move in that direction.

"I'm terribly drunk, John."

"I know it my friend."

"I'd better be off to bed, else you'll both need to carry me up. I'll see you fellows in the morning," Bingley rose shakily to his feet, waving off assistance. " _Both_ of you, I hope," he glanced pointedly at John, "No more slipping off again?"

John smiled affectionately at Charles, and slowly shook his head, "I promise."

"Good. For I'll be deuced if I let another seven years separate us." Bingley made his way to the door and started to open it when he suddenly realized, "Dear lord! I suppose I must first go see the ladies and take my leave. I think my Jane will not be pleased." and with that Bingley quit the room.

The door had not yet fully closed behind Bingley when John felt the eyes on the back of his head. He slowly turned to face Darcy, and saw at once that his suspicions were confirmed. There was unfinished business between the two of them, and there would be no squirming out of it.

With his brow raised in inquiry, Darcy found himself smiling. Even as a small boy, Barrow would sometimes have the habit of pulling a hand through his hair to signal his disquiet. And now, for that very reason, the man before him seemed remarkably like that small boy. Darcy resisted the temptation to temper his approach accordingly.

"But it _hasn't_ been seven years for _us_ , has it John? Closer to six months, I believe. Come. Sit by me."

It was not a request.

With his brow deeply furrowed, John removed himself to a chair immediately adjacent to Darcy. Although generously cushioned, there was little comfort to be found in it. Barrow felt as though he sat before judge and jury combined. His unease was acute, and but little relieved by Darcy's smile.

"It _was_ you in that hallway, wasn't it?"

Barrow nodded warily, "Yes."

"Without requiring an immediate explanation for your presence there, let me just tell you a little story." Darcy's smile grew wide, almost conspiratory, as he inched his chair closer. "Late last summer I had occasion to meet, several times, with an esteemed old friend of mine by the name of Wickham. You do remember George Wickham, do you not? My father's steward's son?"

Another cautious nod from John.

"Well, I don't _suppose_ you would have any reason to know this, but I am now connected to him. He's married to my wife's youngest sister."

This was met with silence.

Though growing increasingly irritated with John's unflagging reticence, Darcy managed to check his desire to shake his companion soundly and continued on with his tale.

"Now as you probably remember, my brother-in-law is, in terms of externals, generally thought to possess a pleasing countenance, and my initial visit with him served to confirm, not only the presence of his more scheming, vicious tendencies, but also the veracity of that opinion. So I was understandably surprised on meeting with him the very _next_ day to find that, overnight, his features had undergone a most remarkable rearrangement, with certain components occupying a much larger proportion of his facade than they were formerly in the habit of doing. Even more amazing was the fact that Wickham seemed determined to give _me_ the credit for it, cursing me soundly for setting my 'damned foreign lackey' on him. I had no earthly idea to what he tended! But during the course of our conversation it became clear to me that he'd been prevented from wiggling out of... a particular arrangement we'd been making. Having no 'foreign lackey' of my own, accursed or otherwise, I've often had occasion to wonder at, or more importantly, to _thank_ , whoever it was that supplied such a useful article."

John's relief was evident, though a combination of brandy, amusement and embarrassment made a muddle of his features. "His name is Bruno."

For the first time in their entire acquaintance, Barrow could see straight on to Darcy's molars. That man's head was thrown fully back as he roared with laughter. Finally, after quite some time had passed in this fashion, Darcy quieted himself, wiped his eyes and extended his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blevins."

~~O~~

The End - at least for now.

Michele C Venable


End file.
